The Perfect Drug

Since returning to my own bed with Adam, my outlook on life has improved significantly. I feel  silly saying that, but being away from him at night, especially now, really threw me. I mean, it made me sad. That’s kind of ridiculous, I know, and also may have more to do with the fact that our spare bed is underneath the heating vent, which is like having the Sahara desert blasted on your face for eight straight hours.

I’m not one of those people who likes to go on and on in long, saccharine entries about their relationship and life partners (NOT THAT THERE’S ANYTHING WRONG WITH THAT), so I’m writing this more for me than anything else, but one of the things I want to remember most about this time is the impact it’s had on my relationship.  Pregnancy is such a universal experience, but each person’s is so very specific to them in its cozy feeling of anticipation and excitement.  If parenthood drives us apart the way many say it does, well, it’s a good thing we spent pregnancy getting closer together.  I think I’m going to miss that.

Yesterday, my computer fried, and I’m not convinced everything is back to normal.  (God, am I hoping Adam doesn’t read this.) There was a sizzling sound and a fried power cord and long hours with the black screen of “Rescue and Recovery” and OY.  All this on a laptop that is a year old, if that, and I have UNFINISHED PROJECTS on there, and oy vey, bad bad news. I am a computer-killer, for those who don’t know– I whip through them like Kleenex and it’s just. plain. miserable. I’m spending a good part of tomorrow doing some backing up, is what I’m saying, not to mention figuring out if the writing I did yesterday and today still exists somewhere.  Oy.

Onward! To birthing class! It seems that yesterday was circumcision day on the Interwebs, and apparently my birthing class got the memo, as it was on the menu almost immediately when we walked in. We’re the only couple in the class expecting a girl, and HOO BOY, I don’t know that I have ever felt so obnoxiously smug, because HA HA, not my problem. I watched the proceedings and listened to the warnings with detached amusement, because who cares right now? No one’s going to hack away at my kid’s private parts, and I don’t have to make any decisions, nor do I have to deal with the consequences in either direction!

(Memo to universe: this is not the time to hand me a boy, despite three ultrasounds confirming that it’s a girl. I mean, not that I wouldn’t love him regardless, but really, NOT NOW.)

I will say this, however:  I don’t think I’d tell the Internets what I did if I were having a boy. Because man oh man, people are NUTS about that shit, and the last thing I’d want my kid to read about later in life is a bunch of crazy-ass strangers vilifying his mother for what she did or did not do to his VERY PRIVATE PENIS WHICH SHOULD NOT BE UP FOR DISCUSSION BY ANYONE IN THE WHOLE WORLD EXCEPT HIM AND HIS FUTURE WIFE.

Yesterday was also drug day, where we learned about the various drugs available to us during labor. We were also, perhaps not surprisingly, warned about the DIRE AWFUL THINGS that could happen to us as a result of said drugs, thanks to our earth mama doula/teacher, who is staunchly pro-natural childbirth.

And while I don’t regret the decision to give birth at the big hospital here vs. the small one where I am almost certain to pass my infant into the hands of Dr. Leans A Lot, I am now wishing they had intrathecals as an option vs. the epidural, because my birthing teacher spent some quality time freaking me out about paralysis and migrating catheters and death! LET US NOT FORGET THE DEATH. And you know, with an intrathecal, the risk of paralysis is only during the injection itself, whereas she was sure to tell us that the epidural’s risks are for the ENTIRE TIME.

Adam, in particular, is completely freaked out, and spent the car ride home from the hospital repeating things like, “Call me crazy, but I don’t want my wife PARALYZED OR DEAD.”

Well played, birthy lady, WELL PLAYED.  You’ve got two people totally freaked out and spending way too much time Googling epidural risks and freaking right the fuck out.  At this rate of conversion, I’ll be taking my midwife up on that birthing pool or requesting my own bed of straw in the great outdoors for a truly natural experience.

(Side note: I’m all for all-natural births, no kidding, I just never thought I’d have one, so please don’t think I am in any way mocking the experience. And I’ll also be honest in that now that she’s got me all paralyzed and shit, I’m seriously considering it.)

(Except that I’m also planning on talking through all my options with my doctor and will totally pick what I’m comfortable with based on real information.)

(I’m saying this because I can see the birth police coming out of every corner and it will be all my fault, but dude! We are ALL UNIQUE BIRTHING SNOWFLAKES! And no one gets a prize for how their kid came out! There is no medal for childbirth!)

Anyway! I hope that you’re all enjoying your snow if you’re on the east coast. Naturally, we’re buried, but it should be clear and dry in time for my southern baby shower migration (“southern” being “Boston”).

Happy Thursday!

*Nine Inch Nails. Once in a while I pull out the old albums, and I’m always glad I did.

30 comments January 28th, 2009