Six Weeks and Counting

The fact that I received a hand-me-down bag in my kids cubbie is a normal occurence. The fact that the bag contained several perineal compresses is the fact that has me kind of "alarmed." I opened the bag ready to find some well-worn cotton tights or some broken-in Babystyle jeans but then it occured to me all at once--this baby is going to have to come OUT. Now, you know me, I love childbirth. It's kind of my field of study. Even with my growing tum, I haven't really given a ton of thought to the actual, you know, BIRTH.

Being my fourth baby, my midwife appointments are brief and informal. Even when we hear the rhythmic WHOOSH on the doptone, I breathe this, "Thank you, God" kind of prayer but then I really just flip back into my nonchalance about birth politics or the recent writings of Ina May or Henci Goer. With six weeks left I am really trying to tune in and get ready. I want to take the time to visualize this baby's entrance into the world. I want to brace myself for the sobering and difficult work of labor. Our bodies know how to birth. The uterus is an involuntary muscle. Get out of its way, I tell myself.

Even as I write this, there is so much to do for the other kids: finish Manny's app process to GFS, do the post-holiday toy purge, arrange the nursery (My friend Lisa'a house is my role model: a corner where she may want to write a letter, a corner to tune her guitar, photos of her with her cousins and friends.). I want to have the third floor all set-- a kind of kid wonderland where they can get solitude from a crying infant or a hormonally-ravaged mom. I have on my ical to read to the kids and pray with them every day. Today I spent a lot of time horizontal and cozy with them. If you ask them, they say that they're ready for the new baby. I want to be open-hearted and relaxed and ready, too.