Oh Baby!

I’m amazed at how quickly my mood can swing. No, really. Yesterday I was all holy cow it’s been eight years since my nephew died and it still hurts so try to stumble through the day without remembering the sights and sounds of that day and breaking down whew. Today I’m all hey Super Cop’s baby is going to be here right away oh my god it’s a baby to love and cuddle that I didn’t have to squeeze out of my own womb thank goodness yea! Amazing. Is this what menopause is going be like? Wild mood swings and a daily craving for white sheet cake with strawberry filling and white icing? Hmm. Perhaps, it’s not me. Perhaps, it’s just the wonderful way the world turns, tragic one day, happy the next. And we are certainly happy about this baby.

The countdown to the birth of the newest Hula-gen is on. Technically, we’re about three or so weeks away from the due date, but at the rate this baby is growing, I don’t think Mrs. Scrubs is going to last that long. There are signs that the little fellow may be a big guy. As in let’s do another ultra sound Monday to see just how big he is. He’s been an early achiever so far on this growth, and it appears that all systems are go if he decides to chuck his due date and join us a little early. Word is the doctor won’t throw on the brakes if things start to roll. And Mrs. Scrubs is ready to roll. She’s at that stage where she just wants it to be over. Those of you who have given birth know what I’m talking about. It’s those final days where you don’t want to be the cute pregnant lady any more. The glow of pregnancy has worn off. Your face is puffy. Your feet are swollen. Nothing tastes good. Only one pair of stretchy pants fits, and that baby feels like it’s about to fall out. You walk around with your hand underneath your belly just waiting to smack the next person who asks, “Haven’t you had that baby yet” and resisting the urge to scream, “Yes, B****. This is just a bad case of gas!” Oh, those last few weeks are miserable. I was an emotional wreck near the end of my pregnancy. I couldn’t turn off the tears. I cried in the bathroom before Christmas dinner at Baby Ruth’s house because she greeted me at the door with, “Oh, honey you ARE big.” I cried when I overheard Hubby tell the cat as I walked by, “Back up. Wide load coming through.” And I cried crocodile tears in the doctor’s office during my last appointment after she told me I hadn’t dilated any since the previous week. My wracking sobs surprised her, and she asked me if I felt bad or hurt anywhere. I wiped a big wad of snot off the bottom of my nose and babbled about “just wanting to have this d*** baby.” I must have been pretty pitiful because she laid me back down on the table, did a little sumpin’ sumpin’ and six hours later I was in labor. God bless her. I might have stuck my head in the oven if she hadn’t.

I feel for Mrs. Scrubs. The next few weeks will be tough, but it will be over before she knows it, and then the real fun begins. The 2am feedings, the spit up on your clothes, the inconsolable crying. Ah, yes. I don’t miss those days, and that’s why I’m going to enjoy this baby. I get to have all the cuddly cooing fun I want and then hand him back to his parents for the messy stuff. It’s been fifteen years since we had a baby in this family, and I intend to enjoy every minute of it. And I’ll be praying for the new parents because as some of us know, giving birth is really the easy part of parenting.