I am really down. I just had a brief crying jag and now I’m trying to explain to myself exactly why I’m so blue. The main culprit, I think, is the infamous “due date.” You should never, ever tell anybody what date the doctor gives you. It’s just a guess! It’s not binding! Ma called again from Mexico, but I have no news for her. “Mr. Douglass has still not arrived.”
The baby is moving all over the place, so I’m sure it’s healthy. Just not ready to come out yet. Which is cool, except that I am ready and folks are pressuring me like I have some control over when the kid decides to arrive.
I wonder how big the baby is. I wonder if I’ll be able to handle labor without drugs. I know I haven’t practiced the breathing enough! I wonder if the episiotomy hurts. I wonder if the stiches hurt. I wonder when I’ll be able/ready to go back to work. I wonder if they’ll keep my job open for me. I wonder if my body will be soft and hideous after the birth.
I wonder a million things.
At the park today, Emma was teasing me about being a good feminist because I stayed at work so far into my pregnancy. I laughed and said that I had stuck it out for so long that now I couldn’t take any maternity leave as a matter of principle. And that is partially true! I am all psyched about proving that I am not sick and do not need accommodations of any kind. But the truth is, I’m really tired! It’s hard to get comfortable to sleep. Hard to eat. I cannot imagine infant care can be harder than late-stage pregnancy, but that may be ignorance talking.