Archive for September 29th, 2008

Cuts You Up

So, uh, how about Wall Street, eh? What an exciting time we live in! Bailouts, fingerpointing and pathetic politicking, OH MY! It’s all very tiring, even if you’re interested in it, which I am.

But this isn’t really about that, because today was, all economic disasters aside, a good day, health-wise. After a rough start to the morning, I eventually shored up my resources enough to make it out for pot roast night at a local restaurant! (Confession: I love pot roast. Adam does not. Ergo, I find myself at our local home-cooking place for Pot Roast Mondays more often than not. I know it’s gross, but I have a thing for pot roast, I can’t help myself, and it’s one of those meals you can’t really make for one. But what kind of person doesn’t like pot roast, I have to consistently ask this man that I love so dearly?)

Plus, there are bigger problems in my world, such as the fact that I can’t get the “Two and a Half Men” theme song out of my head, and haven’t been able to for DAYS. DAYS. And despite the show’s popularity, every single time I’ve caught an episode, I’ve felt a little — how shall I put this? — less intelligent, and I’m a HUGE FAN of dumb television, really I am. Look, I’m not pretending that watching Sookie Stackhouse drool over a vampire named Bill is anything but cheap froth, but Charlie Sheen goes a little beyond the pale for me, I don’t know why.

The other thing that I really feel like I’ve neglected to emphasize in this Time of Pregnancy Woe and Pukage is that I’m honest and truly ridiculously excited about being a mom. I am, more than I can properly express here, and while that should be obvious, I can’t tell you how it seems that once you’re pregnant, all anyone wants to tell you is the bad stuff and how HORRIBLE it is and how NO ONE TOLD THEM how hard it was. And believe me, while I’m fully expecting to be shocked and horrified with the relentless agony that is parenthood at times, to those people, I sort of feeling like asking, “Uh, seriously? No one told you? COME ON. That’s either a) a total lie or b) you just weren’t paying attention.”

Because, if it isn’t obvious, that’s ALL anyone has told me: how tired I’ll be, how miserable I’ll be, how I’d better sleep now, because I will never sleep again. This latter part I know for a fact is a lie, because I’m fairly certain that my mother sleeps just fine these days, so don’t tell me there isn’t a light at the end of the tunnel, albeit 33 years later.

At this point, quite frankly, I’m anticipating parenthood to be akin to having giant swaths of bamboo shoved up my fingernails at the expert hands of Sayid Jarrah and will be pleasantly surprised to find if it’s anything remotely otherwise. But really, you guys, I’m so excited to meet this little person, and be someone’s mother. Because I have to believe in the midst of all the crap, there is good stuff, like baths! Smiles! Playtime! Learning about dinosaurs! And I cannot wait.

Hey, speaking of scary, I was flipping through one of my pregnancy books again last night and was hit with one of the most terrifying photos I’ve ever seen in my entire life, and it was presented WITHOUT WARNING, all casual-like, as though it would not haunt my dreams for the months to come. It involved (oh, I can barely type it) a photo of a baby, all snuggly in a woman’s uterus with ONE LEG DANGLING OUT OF HER VAGINA. ONE LEG. And it made it appear as though this sort of thing an just HAPPEN, like not even in DELIVERY or anything, and I’m not kidding, there was NO EXPLANATION ACCOMPANYING THE IMAGE.

I could be at a cocktail party in one of my cute little Gap maternity dresses, when suddenly, a giant penis-like thing comes shooting out from between my legs and I have to explain, “Oh, no worries, that’s NOT a penis, it’s just my baby’s leg! No big deal! It’s called a FOOTLING BREECH and it’s quite manageable! Now, if you’ll excuse me …”

(Seriously, WHAT THE HELL, “What to Expect …”? I thought you were supposed to be all UPDATED and stuff, so as NOT TO TERRIFY THE NICE PREGNANT LADIES.)

In addition, while I am not married to any specific birth plan — no, seriously, I DO NOT CARE, and I understand there are women who do! I do! I get it! But I am not one of you! — I am a bit in fear of the C-section, not because I’m afraid of surgery (I’m not), but because I am afraid of being strapped to a table like Jesus. I don’t do well with my arms out like that, all vulnerable-like, and it’s been a long-held fear of mine, having my wrists exposed. I hate it, and will never — NEVER — hold my arms up to you, wrist forward, because I am afraid (oh look, I KNOW) that you or someone else will decide in that moment cut them. I don’t know why this is, it’s just a THING I have, that strangers (or uh, friends and family) are going to be wielding knives for the express purpose of slicing my wrists the moment I show them. And in the operating room, THERE ARE SCALPELS. For baby-freeing and maybe wrist-cutting, oh my God, and the thought makes me feel very, very faint.

I know how weird that sounds, being totally cool with being eviscerated while they sling my intestines on the table to get to my baby, but NOT being cool with the (totally unlikely) idea of someone CUTTING MY WRISTS IN THE INTERIM. I’m actually planning on packing some uh, wrist bands for the occasion. It’s the only thing I’ll have written in my birth plan, swear to God. “In event of C-section, for the love of all that is holy, WRAP SOMETHING AROUND MY WRISTS TO PROTECT THEM FROM ROGUE KNIVES.”

(I’m absolutely serious about this. I know you think I won’t care, but you don’t understand how deep this fear is. I will care, I assure you, and I will need something that I BROUGHT MYSELF to go under the strap they give me, because it could be filled with SLICING INSTRUMENTS. I … do you think they’ll let me do this? OH GOD.) (No, really. I’m serious.)

And with that, I bid you happy Tuesday. I’m looking at a house tomorrow that appears to have working toilets. Viva la rental market!

*Peter Murphy

43 comments September 29th, 2008


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