At this point, the idea that I may have had to wait until at least the 25th – my actual due date – to deliver Murdock seems absolutely ludicrous.
If it wasn’t for next week’s scheduled c-section, I would not only have NOT given up using the riding lawn mower, I would have loaded up a suitcase or two and driven that sonofabitch to South Dakota this weekend.
Aside from the contractions I experienced a few weeks ago, I’ve only had what have been identified as “irritated muscles” by my OB. Trust me, it’s not just my muscles that are irritated. This morning I was trying to fish my contacts out of my case, except my fingers, which are nothing less than kielbasa sized, would not fit past the opening. Plus, even if I was able to get a pinch on a contact, I couldnt’ feel it. Cue helpless tears before finally getting contacts in.
XBoy has been quite a trooper. I especially appreciate his nimbleness. While I feel a deep guilt for asking him to pick up things I drop, he’s so damn cheery about it that I assuage my guilt a bit by thinking he must enjoy feeling useful to his blimp of a Mom.
I did catch him peeking under the frosted part of the shower door this a.m. I’m not sure if he was confirming what I have been telling him for ages and that is girls don’t have penises, or if he was checking for the unnatural eclipse of the recessed shower light.
A couple of weeks ago, I called one of my favorite photography places to get pictures taken of Murdock and XBoy for announcements (I know! …how presumptuous of me!). I told the girl who answered the phone I wanted newborn pictures. She informed me that the soonest opening was in September. Not sure about you, but Murdock won’t be a “newborn” in September. Mr. DD and I have decided to try to tackle this task ourselves. Frankly, I’m worried. Lots of camera toys and attachment a photographer does not make. For either of us.
Related to that, I asked OB what he thought of us bringing a camera into surgery. While he stated he has no problems with it, the hospital has a policy against it. I guess they are afraid of the chance there might be documentation of someone fucking up. No matter. We are bringing our small, pocket digital in with us. Actually, Mr. DD will be bringing it as I will be crucified to the table. It’s not that I want pictures of my uterus laying on top of my abdomen or anything as graphic, but I would like to have a picture of Murdock covered in cottage cheese and blood while being held up by his/her freakishly large head to put in my still yet to be purchased baby book.
Makes you almost want to be there, doesn’t it? You can be in a way if you have a Twitter account. I finally figured out how to tweet from my phone and since the hospital does not have wi-fi, (and even though cell phones are supposedly not allowed on the unit….like, seriously?), I will try to give some brief spurts of info through Twitter. You can either click on the link over there on the right if you don’t have an account, or if you “follow” me, you’ll get the info automatically.
I seriously am flattering myself thinking you care, aren’t I? Delusional or hormonal? You be the judge.
And with that, I suppose I will start a pool as a continuation of me believing you are invested enough to guess Murdock’s stats at birth:
I’ll put together a little prize package of some kind or another to send to the commenter with the closest guess. I promise it will contain either chocolate, liquor or a combination of both, as well as a plethora of foam peanuts or packaging pillows.
If you would rather not guess, your comments are always welcome.
(How’s that for comment whoring?!)