Remember this guy?
It's Grimace. Grimace from McDonaldland. He hung with that nasty Hamburglar and the creepiest of all creeptastic pedophile clowns, Ronald.
This has what to do with my normally me-centric blog? Well, I went out walking the other day. As I'm standing there letting Griffin sniff a light pole (okay, and trying to catch my breath), I see something alarming. It's a shadow. A dumpy looking, Grimace shaped shadow. For a brief, very scary moment, I swore Grimace was standing behind me about to pounce. Then the moment got even scarier....that's MY shadow! My shadow, dear friends, looks like Grimace. A clear indication that it's time to have this baby and (as soon as the doctor greenlights hard core workouts) whip my formerly skinny ass into a shape that doesn't remotely conjure up an image of a big dumpy McDonalds character.
So vanity aside, now for the very exciting news.......BABY HAS A BIRTHDAY! Assuming all goes as planned and my body doesn't pull some crazy miraculous stunt (the odds of such event according to my doctor: 3%), our baby boy will be welcomed to the world a week from today. Wednesday, September 17. The doctor appointment yesterday went about how I had figured it would- baby is big and looks blessedly healthy, mom is not making any progress, GD is still a factor, doctor is not wanting to wait this out and see a 9+ pounder. All of that in mind, we agreed to schedule a c-section for next week. I still have a Tuesday appointment and one last (more painfully awkward than painful) internal exam, and if progress has been made, we may talk induction instead. But given the fact that my closest female relatives are prone to 42 week deliveries of 9+lb babies and my cervix appears to be as stubborn as its' owner, I'm thinking we know where this is headed. And I'm surprisingly calm about the idea of my abdomen being sliced- my doctor is known to be a great surgeon and truthfully, I don't care WHAT has to happen, as long as it ends with J and I holding our safe and healthy little guy 7 days from now. WOW. There was one brief moment of panic as we got into the car after the appointment when J, ever the poster child for "speak....then think" looked at me with something in his eyes that could have been fear or boyish elation and said 'THEY'RE GOING TO TAKE YOUR UTERUS OUT OF YOUR BODY AND LAY IT ON A TABLE". Gee, honey, thanks for that comforting little visual! I'll chalk it up to pre-baby jitters though, something he hasn't shown much of to this point. But something about having his baby's birth scheduled, KNOWING he is really, truly coming, is getting my normally so-laid-back-he's-comatose honey a little worked up, making him sweetly dumbfounded about all that is to come.
Needless to say, I'm beside myself with excitement about the impending birth date. I can't watch Baby Story without bawling my eyes out, even when the couple having a baby has the most obnoxious of Jersey accents and puffy bangs and the mom is wearing a scrunchie. Even then, I cry. I think about hearing his very first cry and the sight of J holding him for the very fist time, and I cry. I watch J move the video monitor around the nursery (for the 10th time) to get the very best picture of the crib, and I cry. I don't quite cry but I do get all excited when I glance into the backseat and see a baby seat, professionally installed and ready to hold our most valuable cargo. I also cry when I puke in my mouth during the night, but that's not very sentimental at all. I am so ready. We are so ready, even if only 1 of us realizes it. The pedi is chosen, the parents' flights booked, the hospital bag packed, the pet arrangements handled.....we're ready.
So now, I get through the next week. Tick tock. I thank the TV gods for new fall series, trashy as they may be, and my resulting bloated DVR list. I cuddle with our pets and tell them over and over that they're still our babies, to hang in there through the craziness. I pray that this ridiculous Hurricane Ike is being overblown and does NOT bring 73mph winds to Austin on Saturday night. As eager and anxious as I am, I try to enjoy these last 7 days as a two-some with a quiet and clean house.
Okay, and I also pray that I'll come out of the hospital skinny-jeans ready, pain free and well rested, and looking not one iota like Grimace. A girl can dream.
