(Now that this blog is my new home, I'm re-publishing some of my old favorites over here.)
Originally published May 26, 2011
(It's 3:40 a.m. on Thursday, May 26th as I write this. The signs started around midnight.)
You'll be born today. Just like when I labored with your brother Daniel, I'm not totally sure this is the real deal, but all the signs point to us sharing a birthday.
Right now I'm sitting on the couch documenting this journey because a) the pains aren't too terrible to tolerate, but there's no way I'll be able to go to sleep and b) I'm trying to stall labor. Your father and I agree it would be much easier for us to find care for your brothers if we wait until dawn. Please cooperate, little one, because I'm a basketcase thinking about having to park them in the delivery room with a DVD playing on the computer. All of our plans and back-up plans have fallen through, so that's the scenario we're looking at right now.
FYI: Your father is not good at middle-of-the-night drama. It's comical how non-functional he is. Picture an episode of Lucy. He's Lucy -- trying to shove chocolates into his mouth as quickly as he can because it's the only solution that occurs to him. As he got out of the shower, I practically had to take him by the shoulders and say, "Calm down! You're flaking out!" When he got dressed, he put on stiff, flannel-lined jeans (it's May) and a dress shirt.
And I'm sure you heard the conversation about whom to call for your brothers. Our neighbors have class/work or are out of town. His solution involved the 85-year-old neighbor, who despite being sweet as honey, needs a walker to get around.
Your dad is back in bed now. And that's a good thing. Your brothers have slept through all the midnight scrambling. (No bags were packed, but I had caught up on laundry and made a list of needed items for bags.) Your dad made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. And he tried to pile DVDs up just in case, until I looked at his stack and convinced him the boys wouldn't be interested in listening to Anita Baker or watching Friends.
I hope your partner in life makes you laugh, too, sweet baby. Especially when you're scared, excited, nervous, uncertain, frustrated, overjoyed, and overwhelmed. I hope you have the perfect person with whom to share it.
(It's now 4:00 a.m. Contractions are still coming, but not close enough that I'll call the midwife. Oh! My favorite midwife is on call today, by the way! You'll love her. I think I'll lie down and try to rest if Mozart will let me. He's not good at middle-of-the-night excitement either, as you'll soon learn.)
Be patient, little one. We'll meet soon.