7 Days and Counting...

It's so hard to believe that we're only seven days out from the big event. I feel like I’ve entered a surreal zone. March 9th is the scheduled C-section, and despite everyone’s predictions (including my OB’s) that I’d pop early, here I am still pregnant at 38 weeks.

Telephone calls have become comical. Now, when I call good friends, they skip the hellos and how-are-you’s and blurt out, “Is it time? Do you need me? What’s wrong?” My sister sounds anxious each time I ring her. I have to make it sound as if I’ve popped a few valium beforehand or risk giving her a heart attack. When I call my mom and reach her voicemail, I have to begin each message with “Don’t worry, nothing is wrong…” before I continue.

I’m definitely quaking a bit about what’s to come—the big C itself, the drugs they administer prior to surgery (I HATED how they made me shake uncontrollably before O’s section), the possible length of recovery, the chance of infection—and how painful it may be to stop my breasts from becoming a milk factory. And that doesn’t even take into account the emotional letdown I may feel when my sister and brother-in-law take custody of the baby. I’ve been prepping for that moment, psychologically, for a full year now and feel in my heart that I’m ready. But who knows? I’m in un-chartered waters here.  

Another reason for some trepidation. A Marin IJ reporter just finished interviewing my sister and me yesterday for a human interest story that will run this weekend. Given how inarticulate and monosyllabic my pregnancy brain has made me, I just hope I don't sound like a complete idiot in print! Or look like a beached whale in the pics. No matter how small people tell me I'm carrying, I still feel like a waddling obese sea creature. 

I gave the reporter this blog address so he could read up on our 9-month chronicle. I guess my sister and I are finally ready to share this blog with the world, ironically, now that the pregnancy nearly over. I think I was opposed to do so for a long while because of that genetically-embedded Jewish superstition factor. Same reason my mom didn't want a baby shower planned in January. It's just not done. You don't speak, think, plan for or shop for that baby until it's breathing safely in your arms. Superstitious tendencies don't run as deep in me as they do in my mom, but they're still in there, making me knock on wood every time I say anything optimistic (no, I’m not spitting yet, mom).

In the meantime, all of my good friends are calling and checking in on me this week, making sure I have the support I need, and offering play dates and future meals. Two good friends, Sari and Michal, are both planning ways to celebrate me after the birth. And most importantly, my friend Nancy made sure to deliver my favorite kind of Girl Scout Cookies, Tagalongs, yesterday. What a blessing it is to be surrounded by such a great group of gals, every one of them. I know they’ll help me get through whatever lies ahead. That and a few good bottles of wine.  

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