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| Donesville. |
Okay, this is getting nuts.
By tomorrow morning at this time- if all goes according to plan- I will be holding the newest member of the mini Schoeny family.
Which blows my mind right outta my head and plops it onto the dining room table, which I have yet to stop dusting.
It’s very strange to know precisely when your pregnancy will be done. And at the same time, you almost wish you’d go into labor (regardless of how wonky that would be) if only to break up the inevitable and breakneck locomotion towards surgery and a certain deadline. I love suspense. But I also hate it.
In some ways, I’m more excited about the birthing process this time around. With Nora, I was afraid. Of the c-section, of being a first time mother, of getting to the hospital itself, pretty much anything I had read on the interwebz…But at the same time, there was a kind of bliss in not knowing how hard the healing process would be or what to expect when.
But I had had no idea how euphoric that first moment holding her would be. Or how perfectly wonderful that first couch nap at home with Nora would be. So in that respect, I simply can’t wait for this baby. AT ALL.
But then again, as someone who’s had slightly more than the national average of surgeries (some minor and some not-so-much), I will never lose my apprehension at feeling like a human pincushion. Sure, I can deal with the post-op metal staples, but please don’t make me watch while you put in an I.V. and draw blood. There are limits.
That said, after the last few nights of waking up with insane false contractions and an internal (child-sized? Debatable?) foot in my sternum, I would willingly jab the needle in my own arm. Especially if you include last night’s sideshow of a full leg cramp that made me a) shriek in pain, b) wonder why someone was stabbing me into ribbons with scissors, and c) if contractions have ever been brought on by leg pain.
On a fun note, I had my first gender-related dream in recent memory. And it was a boy. Meaning…absolutely nothing. Because, if anyone remembers, I was certain that N.J. was a boy. Which I’m decently sure she is not.
In my dream, I was so thrilled to meet my kid and announce his birth that I promptly sent a mass text…to all of the past year’s contractors. Like my mold guy and the plumbers, et. al. But it never sent. Leaving me to panic. (Great- one more thing to stress about.)
So, uh, this is the last day to lemme know your guesses for The Monkey’s weight and gender! I’ve been receiving them via Facebook, text, and in person…overwhelmingly, people feel that the baby will be a girl and under 7lbs.
So I’m gonna go on record and say BOY, 7lbs, 13oz.
P.J. thinks it’s a dude as well, but he’s sticking with 7lbs, 10oz- which is very The Price Is Right of him.
My youngest sister is thinking Girl, 5lbs, 8oz. Because a) she was a preemie and a twin, and b) she has not, in recent memory, hefted a full term infant.
My Dad thinks it’s a boy. My Mom, to counter that, is going with Girl. Even though she really thinks it’s a boy. (Especially since she made gorgeous wooden letters for the baby’s name- both gender options, in fact- but really likes how the boy name came out.)
So I’m curious what YOU think. Again, I can promise you nothing but my undying impressitude and bragging rights on a blog of medium publication. Oooh.
And I’ll seeya Wednesday for a [blissfully] wordless post. And probably something exuberantly drugged on Thursday.
Plan accordingly.
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