First and foremost, I’m pleased to announce that my fabulous fiance is back in the country (since Saturday, actually) and both of us are back home and tickled to be there. This is a Good Thing.
Some friends of ours had a baby (just one) on Friday, so we decided to do something nice and fix them a dinner to take over. This is pretty easy for Andrew to promise, because he doesn’t cook (beyond scrambled eggs, toasting bread products, and grilling sandwiches), but I don’t actually mind being volunteered for that sort of thing. So today, I made two (2) pans of lasagna to take over to the friends’. I figured I’d make two so they could have one tonight and stick one in the fridge or freezer for later use. They were kind enough to invite Andrew and I to stay and partake in the food we’re going to bring, and I agreed on the condition that Andrew and I be able to clean up the mess from dinner. They also have a three-year-old in addition to their newest progeny, and I know I certainly wouldn’t want to worry about cleaning up after dinner company with a fresh-from-the-oven baby to feed/change/bathe/put down and a preschooler to chase. So those are our dinner plans tonight.
Also, this past Sunday I hit 28 weeks with my own pregnancy. For those of you playing along at home, that puts me officially into the 3rd Trimester. That’s right, folks, the home stretch. Although, it’s kind of hard to get excited about it, for whatever reason. Mark, my Baby A (read: the one lower down), is still rather stubbornly butt down (a.k.a. frank breech), and since he’ll be the one born first, his positioning determines the birthing procedure. If, at some point in time before D-Day, he flips head down like normal folks, we can try to do this dance the old fashioned way, which would be my preference. However, if he decides that he likes where he’s at and he doesn’t flip, we’ll have to go with the c-section.
Now, I’m not the kind of woman who’s going to pitch a crying bitch fit because I didn’t get my “perfect birth experience” or whatever, but I’d like to try. I mean, it’s not because I think that you can’t be a real woman if you don’t go all natural and feel every twinge of every contraction, and it’s certainly not because I’m looking forward to my offspring playing Stretch Armstrong with my lady-bits. Far from it. I just hold the opinion that we women-folk labor and deliver this way (usually) for good reasons, and that the labor and delivery process is generally beneficial to the child in question. Obviously, there’s nothing inherently wrong with giving birth by c-section. Hell, my mother did it three times. I’d just like to give it a try, is all. And the anesthesiologist had better be on standby with that epidural.
But in addition to pondering the mysteries of childbirth, being this far along really does kind of put it in perspective that I’m not going to be pregnant forever (thank God!), and when I’m done being pregnant, I’ll have, you know, a couple of kids to raise. So, like other mothers (presumably), I’ve been wondering about how I’m going do it. I mean, am I going to be more of a free-range kind of mother, or am I going to be that one who holds the mirror under the noses, refusing to believe that they’re actually just sleeping? Will I be a scheduler? Will I be able to breastfeed exclusively? Am I actually actively melting polar ice caps by not choosing to cloth diaper?
Well, more on this later. It’s time for that dinner date I was telling you about earlier.