Subscribe via Bloglines here:
For this site's Atom XML feed: click here.
Monday, April 02, 2007
chatty....
I suppose it would be ok to occasionally write a chatty blog post. I don't normally do it, cuz, well, I've tried to make this blog better than that, you know? Still, just chatting has it's merits, so here goes...
I've been working my tail end off around the house. But it's all good. I'm sore, tired, but things are getting done. I've painted a downstairs room, hung a door, relocated a heavy computer desk, and gotten ready to put up a baby bed. Yes. All of this doing and putting and relocating is due to our impending arrival.
We have another doctor visit today, complete with sonogram to check on the size of the baby. Last week, the baby was already at 8 pounds or so. The sono tech said she could have been off one pound either way though. Our last baby was 9.5 pounds, so I'm not too concerned about toadgirl being able to give birth to another one of this size. But, the doctor seems over cautious, oh well. We will be firm, but not stupid.
Anyway, enough chatty twaddle for now I suppose. I've been considering "live blogging" the birth, what do you think?
Don't quote us statistics. We're people, not numbers. Don't try to persuade us into something we do not want to do, we will refuse. Humans have been doing this for millennia, we've done this before a couple of times. Just be there. Be encouraging. Watch for warning signs and explain them to us, so that we can make decisions. Give us control over this, one of life's most precious moments. This will be our child, and we will not go so far as to allow harm. If we need you're assistance, we will ask. Just be there. Don't push us, let it happen. Please.
Those are the words, the kind ones, that I would have for our doctor at this point. Our baby is still in the womb, getting bigger and bigger. But the baby is still not as big as it's older brother was at birth. We're confident we can go through with the natural birth, and not succumb to the strong desire of the doctor to schedule a c-section. "But the only difference is the recovery time!" Those words rang like warning bells in my head. This guy doesn't understand emotion or trauma, it would seem, though I'm only judging by the vibes he gives off. I'm sure he's a competent doctor, I just hope he's a competent human being. What he says, though, is true. Physical recovery time, if all emotional stress is removed, is the only difference. If one looks at it through the microscope of cold hard unfeeling science, then that is, indeed, the only difference. If one takes the human element out of this, one of life's most human moments, then we are automatons reproducing by way of scheduled dates and machinery.
We have high hopes that we will do this. We will refuse anything less than natural, unless circumstances change more than at the moment. But until then, we wait.
For me, it starts with a smell. Dreft. It hints at what's to come. Then, the tiny clothing, taken out of storage, washed in Dreft, folded and prepared. Next, equipment. New, and stored, put together, placed, and ready.
We all have to shift over a bit. Make room. Another person will be joining us soon. We've made some space for them, but it's not done yet. There's yet things to be done before the arrival. Things built, things purchased, things repaired and put together. All for someone we can't see yet, and don't know yet except in the movement inside mother.
We heard it yesterday, at the doctors office. We all got quiet, listened, and we heard it loud and clear. New life beating away inside. Brand new, but still unseen.
From our blanket in the back yard, we could see into the shrouded mysteries of infinity. We could see into the distant past and watch things happen that had already happened a million years before, to others like us. We loved each other and the infinite reaches of heaven above us were our backdrop, our curtain, and we let the future find us. From where we were, we were in touch with creation, almost able to see it's inception, it's fertilization.
That majesty became one with us as we loved, in our small human way, as we had hoped it would. We are made of star stuff, it has been said. Life came to us from creation, from God, through the vessel of the void, over eons of empty time, to this point, and we start creation again, in our small human way. A wayward and young soul, looking for a home, found us that night.
