One Down, Nine to Go

In last night’s dream, Patrick and I were in a crowded airport baggage claim.  The "baggage" that all of us were waiting to collect was . . . you guessed it . . . babies.  Dozens of pudgy, approximately six-month old babies dressed in only a diaper, sitting directly on the belt and blinking at us as they shunted by.

 

At my appointment yesterday, I was found to be one centimeter dilated and almost completely effaced, which is babyspeak for – things are moving along, but it could still be a day, a week, two weeks . . . no telling.  All it really means is that it’s one less centimeter I have to worry about when I go into labor.  One down, nine to go.

 

Also?  I went to bed at about 8:15 last night.  And it was awesome.  I slept-ish for over 10 hours.  It was still interrupted, disturbed, uncomfortable, etc., but 10 hours of interrupted sleep is better than 7 of the same.

 

Last evening I took the dog for a short walk, and met some neighbors along the way.  They have a 9 year old son with Down’s syndrome – cute as a button, and a little bit wild and unpredictable, as children with Down’s tend to be.  He looked at me puzzled, patted his own stomach, and said "big belly, big belly!"  His mom and I said, in unison, "There’s a baby in there!  That’s why it’s so big."  His brow furrowed even more deeply, and he put his finger to his lips in an exaggerated "ponder" expression, then marched over to me and lifted up my shirt!  "No baby," he said, and looked at me suspiciously, as if to say – lady, why you tellin’ lies?  I explained that the baby was under the skin, but we’d get to meet him soon.  Conor squealed with delight, and then gave me three good hard whacks on the belly, saying Baby Baby Baby with each one.  I replaced my shirt while his mom scolded him for not being gentle, and then I asked if he’s met many little babies?  Like, little cousins or something?  Because inside I’m imagining bringing Jack over to meet this nice family, and having Conor holding his fingers and loving on him and giving him hugs and then all of a sudden picking him up by the feet and swinging him over his head.  She reassured me that Conor’s met lots of babies before, and he loves them, and I was like – Oh, that’s great! – but internally I’m thinking – do they all still have all their limbs?

 

We hung the pirate maps yesterday, too – and I’m just realizing that a lot was accomplished yesterday for a slow-movin’ girl who went to bed at 8:15!  They look pretty great.  And they’re very light, we didn’t put glass in the frames on purpose so if they magically leap off the wall (in 29 years of my life no picture has ever magically leapt off a wall in any house I’ve ever lived in, but YOU NEVER KNOW), even if they land right on Jack’s wee head, they won’t do much damage.  So now, everything is complete.  Except the pediatrician.  Minor detail.

 

Very soon, you’ll see an entry that says – Off to the Hospital!  But until then . . . one down, nine to go.  One down, nine to go.  One down, nine to go. . .