So then, I got in the tub, and lay very still. This sometimes makes me miraculously healthy and well about the belly. Pretty soon, the baby started jumping around, and water was sloshing all over the tub. It was sort of creepy. But it made me think, wait a second: there is a real baby in there, with a mind of his own! And he is coming out soon.
I mean, I almost never forget I am pregnant, but I totally forgot I'm going to have a real, live baby, in like, a month.
He is going to want something to wear, something to poop in, a place to sleep! He is going to look to me, his mother, to procure and arrange these things! And if I forget to prepare them, he is going to feel very unwelcome! (He IS welcome. Please come out, baby.)
So yesterday I got out all my infant boy clothes, plus the ones from cousin Charlie, who was very well dressed, terribly stylish and couture. Turns out there are way too many clothes. This is what happens when you have lots of kids, and your peers in your age cohort stop having kids: you get lots of fabby hand-me-downs. I'm not talking about old light-up Winnie the Pooh sandals from Wal-Mart, with the tread all worn down on one side, cause the original owner was bow-legged, neitha.
Plus, when you've had lots of kids, you don't much want to dress them up like you did your black Cabbage Patch Kid from 1980-something that you named Diana Ross. Sure, you spent hours putting corn rows in her hair, unbelievably small designer jeans on her bum, and tiny running shoes on her feet. You did that for a couple of real live kids, too (minus the corn rows. Your kids were baldy). You don't find those size 2 Nikes so cute and ironic when the 3 month old has kicked one off somewhere in the bowels of Costco, and you feel you should retrieve it, cause you spent 30 bucks on the them. Now, white onesies and those socks that have cowboy boots printed on them have become church clothes. Sometimes the white onesies have faux neckties sewn to the front. it doesn't much matter what they wear, because you keep them swaddled up tight like a rolled taco from Filiberto's, in the hope they will fall asleep. It will likely be 90 degrees by mid-March, so I worry more about heat rash than keeping the infant warm.
I've got cribs and bassinets and strollers. Don't try to tell me I need something to strap the baby to my front or my back. Cause I don't like them things! You can't make me wear one! I am old, and I know what I like. I will just carry the baby around in my arms, like some sort of old-timey cavewoman, and I won't ever do the dishes. Is nothing new.
Now I just need the baby to come out (like 3 weeks hence would be nice. I don't want any undercooked lungs.) Cause what I could really use is some sleep. (Yes, I think I will get more sleep after the baby is born. Is bad news. Am muy cranky.)
P.S. I hate science fairs. We've got assorted cheeses on the window sill that refuse to grow mold, someone counting unpopped popcorn kernals at all hours (house smells like fake butter all the day long), and another child who would rather play wobot wars (lego mindstorm), than figure out about why some metals are magnetic.
I can't do this on 3 hours of sleep.