Think back to the last time you went on a nice long vacation. Remember your last Friday of work before your vacation weekend officially began, and the eternity that passed between 9:00am and 9:01am.
Think back to being a kid and realizing Christmas is coming. Remember the countdown from December 21st when school ended until Christmas morning.
Now realize I’m dealing with something that will drastically and irrevocably change my life. Oh, and to make matters worse, I don’t have a friggin clue when it’s going to happen.
Meg and I are planners. We’re not completely compulsive, but we do like to be able roughly see in our heads how something will play out. And now we sit here not only not knowing the day, but not even sure if things will go down at 2:00pm or 2:00am.
On top of that, we’re not patient. It only took about three months to get pregnant, but even that was too long. After the first month of no news, we already had gotten anxious and were tired of waiting.
There is also a certain symmetry that I didn’t previously realize. This time last year, we were on vacation in Duck. It was during that vacation that Meg thought she was pregnant. She obviously wasn’t, but that’s what made us realize we both wanted kids soon. Exactly one year later, here we are.
All weekend, we’ve subscribed to just about every wives’ tale for bringing on labor that we could come across. We heard eating pineapples can bring on labor, so I came back from the gym yesterday with a damn harvest worth of them. After a day of this, I assumed we were doing it wrong and tried to get Meg to eat the green leaves on the top. She’s been bouncing on an exercise ball, which has done nothing more than make me almost piss with laughter at the site of her lack of coordination (I know, in her defense she’s got a giant stomach, but that doesn’t make it any less funny). We’ve been taking walks around the neighborhood every hour all weekend. No baby, but I’m down 2lbs from it all. Go Monkey.
It’s slowly driving us to insanity. I’m told that once you have a child, even when you do manage to get alone time, all the couple talks about is the kid anyway. We’re at that point already, and the kid isn’t even born. We’re doing what we can to distract ourselves from talking or otherwise even thinking about birth, but it’s really difficult.
You people aren’t helping. Meg was more graceful in saying this, but I lack that ability. So I’ll be blunt: Stop. Freaking. Calling. There is no reason to “check in”, since we don’t really care about your status. You’ll know when the baby is born. Trust us. Calling every 7 minutes does nothing but destroy what rhythm we have as far as not thinking about the baby.
Not that I haven’t thought about capitalizing on this behavoir. For literally weeks now, conversations with my mother have started almost identically:
“Hi mom, it’s me.”
“Meg have the baby?!”
“No. No baby yet.”
“Oh, ok, I’ll talk to you in a few days then.”
“No, mom, wait, I called you.”
“Oh. What do you want?”
I’ve thought about messing with her head. I’m tempted to call at 2am from my cell phone. When she loses her mind thinking I’m calling to tell her about the baby, I’d just tell her I wanted to say hi and hang up before she can threaten to kill me. I’ve also thought about doing the same to Meg’s sister Tara, but I’m scared she honestly would kill me.
And so we sit here, well, at least when we’re not out walking around the neighborhood. And we wait. But like I said, as soon as we actually have news to report, we will. Until then, assume Meg’s not in labor and I’m stuggling to not degenerate into complete madness.