July 02, 2007

Delaying My Application for Mother of the Year

Thanks for the many comments on Friday. I may (regularly) feel like I'm losing my mind, and it's nice to know that if I do, I'll be taking a lot of you down with me.

So I've been emailing back and forth with Statia about a few things, and one of her emails started off innocuously enough, but it quickly denegrated into a "Bitch please, don't you know anything about parenting?" kind of email.

But it was not judgemental from her perspective.

It was me judging me.

(She wouldn't send me a judgey email like that, although she would be one of the few to be forgiven if she started an email with "You Dumb Whore". If she disapproved of something I think she'd try to quietly talk me in to an alternate method. This is why I love her. That, and because if I get an email from a friend with a picture of a really ugly baby I can send it to her and we'll talk about the fact that the baby, it's pretty ugly, and we won't be all shocked and convinced that the other person is going to hell. Which we both are, but that's beside the point.)

Statia's email simply listed a few baby things she wondered if I could get over there, because she recommends them highly.

I didn't know a single product on that list.

Not one.

Hence my Bitch, please admonitions to myself.

I was frantically Googling names of things that sounded, to me, like the name of a new band of Muppets. Itzbeen? Baby Papasan? Boppy? What the fuck, can I get a Grown-Up Name for 200, Alex? And when I looked them up they were great products, things that sounded fantastic.

And I feel really, really unprepared for all of this.

I hit 23 weeks of pregnancy this week. This is a big time, mostly because should I go into early labor (knock on wood I won't), the babies start to have a chance of surviving it. In three weeks' time, at 26 weeks, they'll be in bad shape for a while but have a high chance of survival and a low chance of motor development problems. My pregnancy has been racing by, and I'm hoping it keeps racing over the next few weeks, because once I hit 27 weeks or so, I'll be breathing easier.

But what this means is I'm entering the home stretch soon. Me and my 8.5 kilos worth of babies, uterus, and the inside paraphernalia that goes with babies (umbilical cord, blood volume, beer hat with dual straws) are all going to be meeting up shortly.

And I'm not ready.

Not a bit.

Angus and I decided not to go to antenatal classes because:

1) Angus has done all this before and knows how to do all the various baby things.

2) Neither of us could handle going and being with all the crunchy-granola mummies and their tummy-rubbing hubbies.

3) Neither of us could handle going and being with the twins' group of crunchy-granola mummies and their tummy-rubbing hubbies, especially since a number of them are likely to be from the same IVF clinic we went to.

4) I've seen a preview of the classes, and it's all about the natural labor, the breastfeeding, and the birthing pools. Twins rule the birthing pool out (which Helen would have ruled out anyway. I am not Flipper, goddammit. I do not birth in a pool.) Natural labor is out - I want drugs, and lots of them. Moreover as a twins' mom I have an 80% chance of a C-section anyway, so I'm just resigning myself to that being the likelihood. And I can't breastfeed as I had the radical breast reduction years ago and have no milk ducts. So I'd be in there feeling like the worst mommy in the world. All I need to do now is ensure their closets have lots of wire hangers and I'll be all set.

We have a wishlist, which I'll be posting shortly. It was a fraught thing, this wishlist, not only because there are so many choices (which bouncy chair do I want? This woman's baby hated it! This woman's baby loved it! What will my babies think? What if one hates it and one loves it?) but also because Angus falls along the lines of the Amish way of raising babies - they get a crib, car seat, stroller (pram), sleeper suits, bottles, diapers, and some wooden blocks. Everything else is a gimmick. I was told I don't need a diaper bag, the babies don't need many toys, and the bathtub I bought was unpopular as "you just hold them in the bath".

Now, I'm not big on lots of things, either. The idea of a load of baby things - most of which I have no experience of and don't even know if we'll be using - is overwhelming. I do have some lines drawn in the sand - I bought one baby swing and need to buy another, because I heard that the swings can at least buy you time to brush your teeth, to have a cup of coffee, or to weep silently in the hallway, all of which I imagine I'll need. I do also insist on a baby changing table because although Angus maintains you can change the baby on the floor, I'm looking at C-section Land, which means stitches, no bending, and general hell for about 6 weeks. He's agreed to those things, and he's also agreed we can have a glider chair. I was prepared to offer copious amounts of oral sex in exchange for my victories.

But when I look at baby catalogs, baby websites, baby stores, I get overwhelmed. Why do baby clothes come in such confusing sizes - over here we have early baby, tiny baby, newborn, and 0-3 months - what the fuck? Aren't they mostly the same thing? What size will my babies be? And for how long? Twins are smaller than singletons, but how much smaller? What the hell do I need? What don't I need? Is it really the austere path that Angus wants, or is the overwhelming path that his sister-in-law went (all brand new, all posh names, and one of everything, please) the way to go?

I'm hoping it's somewhere in between. I have a feeling I won't know until I get there, although once I'm there it's not like I'll be getting out of the house all the time, not with two infant babies. It's probably a good thing that he's sure we won't need much stuff, because my panic levels are rising and I'm sure I'd make some stupid purchases to try to help ease the angst.

And while we're on what I need and don't need, will I seriously need the entire fucking life raft of things they suggest I'll need when I go into the hospital to give birth? Seriously, the list reads like a "What to bring on a U.N. mission into Gambia" protocol. What the hell do mothers really need in the hospital? And I just found out last week that after giving birth, I'll be put into a gigantic room with three other new mothers...and our babies. Yes, that's right - unless your baby needs special care (SBCU or special baby care unit), there is no nursery here. It's called a crash course in motherhood right there, it'll be me, the twins (hoping they're not in the SBCU), three mothers, and their new babies, all in one giant room. Welcome to motherhood. You don't even get to eat the hospital pudding in peace.

Screw getting any rest in the hospital. It sounds like I'll be aching to go home and get some sleep.

I'm feeling a bit faint about everything, and I don't think it's the hormones.

As far as pregnancy goes, I shouldn't say this but...it's not like I thought it would be. I mean, it's hard to imagine how it's going to be if you've never had kids and suddenly you're baking a bun in the oven, let alone two, but it's not how I imagined it. The biggest thing that I didn't see coming?

God...this is hard to say....

Um....I'm not exactly in love with all the kicking that goes on inside.

I read comments and blog posts from other women who find it the very essence of the miracle of pregnancy. Most women seem to miss that single aspect of childbearing most once they've given birth, it's a connection that I think women acutely grieve once it's severed. And maybe I will miss it, too. Someday.

Don't get me wrong, I love knowing that they're alive and well in there, I really do. It's reassuring and comforting to know that they're moving around and are large enough to feel. I find it interesting to observe when they're active and when they're not - they went mad during the busy, noisy action scenes from the new Fantastic 4 movie I took Jeff to see (does that mean they like the noise? Hate it? Not sure.) They also went mad at the steam whistle from the train in Scotland. These observations amuse me and make me smile.

But it's not comfortable, this kicking. They're only almost 23 weeks, I have 13 more weeks of this to go, and the kicking, it's already cumbersome. What happens when they get larger, I wonder? One of the babies regularly nails my lungs, the other one takes my bladder to task, and I find myself doing that age-old motion of rubbing my stomach, like all pregnant women do, only I'm doing it to see if they'll calm down.

Shouldn't I be over the moon at the kicking? Shouldn't I find it symbolic and wonderful and a feeling to be cherished forever? Why am I not more enchanted with it? I absolutely love knowing that they're ok and healthy, that's for sure, but am I missing something with the whole "one with the movements of my unborn child" shtick?

Does this mean I'm going to be one of those mothers that doesn't bond well? If I don't feel like standing naked under a full moon rubbing my growing mound in joyous celebratory wonder and we're only to the kicking stage, does that mean I'll be one of those women in a shabby bathroom extinguishing the butt end of my cigarette in their forumla before shaking it up and serving it to them (and no I don't smoke, and never have done, I'm just saying)? When they're 4 years old and we're out of shredded wheat, will I just roll my eyes and offer up a bowl of torn-up egg carton pieces with a dash of Budweiser to add an element of sog? When my son is 18 years old, will I tell him that screw university, truly the only career option he has is to pursue a bit part in a travelling murder mystery troupe?

Yeah. So much to think about over here.

If anyone needs me, I'll be curled up in a fetal position at Babys 'R Us.

-H.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 10:37 AM | Comments (42) | Add Comment
Post contains 1879 words, total size 10 kb.

<< Page 2 of 2 >>
68kb generated in CPU 0.0131, elapsed 0.069 seconds.
34 queries taking 0.0593 seconds, 164 records returned.
Powered by Minx 1.1.6c-pink.