Three nights before my son Jack was born, I clambered up to join my husband in our full bed. We had propped the laptop on top of our chest of drawers and were watching episodes of Northern Exposure together. I think there might have been ice cream involved. In any case, I remember having a moment of panic, a fleeting thought that very soon, any moment, such quiet nights together as these would cease. I also remember that I was feeling particularly comfortable at that point – the baby wasn’t in an awkward position, my back and ribs didn’t hurt, there were no little infant limb shapes protruding from my abdomen. I decided that it would be ok if I stayed pregnant forever. I was used to it. It wasn’t so bad. And the discomforts I knew were considerably less intimidating than the discomforts to come. I was suddenly very frightened.
Last night, at around 2am, I had The Moment again. This time I was alone. (God knows how I managed to continue to share a bed through the last pregnancy, but this time around I’ve long since abandoned ship. I’m not sure that The Professor misses me.) (Very high on our list of Things With Which To Spoil Ourselves the Nanosecond We Have A Decent Income is a king sized bed. I may have mentioned this before. About a million times.) (My husband is a FLAILER, and a CUDDLER, and I am a chronic insomniac. That’s all I’ll say.)
Anyway, I talked myself down, mostly by thinking about how much better and more fun our lives are since Jack joined us. Now don’t laugh, but I fully expect to give birth in the next three days. Freak out, then give birth three days later. That’s how it works, right?
I think about Angus (not his real name) a lot, but usually in the abstract. Occasionally a wavery picture of a little boy will suddenly turn crystal clear – sometimes he is dark-haired, dark-eyed; sometimes he is fair; sometimes he is the spitting image of his father, sometimes his brother, sometimes my father. Usually, though, the image stays grainy, and the best I can do is an indiscriminate infant tomato face in a bundle of blankets, formless, void of personality. There is richness in this imagination, anticipation, and I’m trying to revel in it. But, wee hours freakout aside, I won’t mind trading in my dream baby for the real one.
4 weeks of work down, 2 to go. I still like it. We were supposed to get to attend a trial next week, but it was continued, so no luck. We took a tour of the Louisiana Supreme Court yesterday, housed in a lovely historic building downtown. I’ve been writing some pretty fierce legal memos. Cubicle life isn’t my favorite, but long term I could handle being a lawyer in an office with a window, no problem.
Speaking of lawyers with office windows – have you ever seen a severe thunderstorm from the 26th floor of a high rise? A friendly lawyer next to my cubicle called as all into her office on Friday to gaze nervously at one of the quickest moving violent storms I’ve ever seen. I’m wondering – if we lose power, do I have to walk down 26 flights of stairs? Come to think of it, maybe that would get my labor going and I could end this infernal cramping. Hmmmmmm . . .
That is all. Carry on.