July 21, 2005

July 21, 2005

I don’t know what it is I’m carrying in my uterus, but it sure as heck
can’t be a baby.   I will be less surprised if it’s some kind
of mutant tumor, than if it’s a real human with all its correct
appendages.  He (Jamie) weighs supposedly around 4 lbs right now,
but I don’t look pregnant enough to have a four pound anything in me,
which means he’s either going to be freakishly small, or I truly do
have some sort of alien in there.   Neither option is very
comforting.  
I’ve had seven months now to adjust to this parent/mom thing, and
frankly it isn’t going too well.  I seem to be cursed with the
juvenile tendency to desire to do the exact opposite of whatever I’m
told.  Moms gush about how in love they are with their babies and
I find it rather annoying and cliche’.   People have horror
stories about hospitals…I want to share horror stories about midwives
(I’m not even contemplating a home birth…ever).    I have
mountains of literature on why it’s best to breast feed, and yet there
is absolutely nothing in me that finds this appealing or desirable in
the least.  (yeah I know, in “mom circles” that’s tantamount to
confessing adultery). For most of my life, breasts were merely annoying
things to be covered and ignored;  now their usage is strictly
sexual, I can’t even fathom a baby sucking on it….it’s almost sacrilegious.
So there it is…I’m already a terrible mother to some alien who hasn’t even been born yet.