Here we are

It's funny that a line from The Muppets Take Manhattan came to me just as I opened the window marked "new post."

"Look at us, here we are, right where we belong.
The curtain's up and the lights are on and they're playing our old song!"

I was so convinced I wouldn't make it to my due date with baby sister. Avi was 4 days over his due date and I was such a mess about it. Now I am a day over and feeling mostly okay about the whole thing.

Sure, I am big and tired and achy in the back, but I know that one of these days I will give birth, trade an achy back for other achy parts and that will be okay, too.

We went to see my nurse practitioner this morning. Much of this pregnancy has been a blessing for me in its ease, and I haven't given a lot of thought to a "birth plan," especially considering my birth with Avi was so unpredictable. I labored at home for most of it and then arrived at the hospital a mere 10 minutes before he flew out and into my waiting arms. An aside about this; I showed him pictures from right after he was born and he took one look at his tiny, tomato-red self lying on my chest and asked, "Why am I crying, Mommy?" Indeed. I answered honestly but probably with more information than his 2 year old self needed, as usual, "Well, it was warm and dark inside of mommy, and then you came out and it probably felt cold and the lights were so bright. Maybe you didn't like that." Swear to god, I hadn't finished my sentence and he had moved on to something else, leaving me with my nostalgia over his birth. His birth was wonderful, but that last part that found us racing across town to the hospital while my doula instructed me not to push was a bit traumatic. No one wants us to repeat that part, either, so my practitioners urge me to go to the hospital As Soon As Possible. And my response has been, okay, sure, no problem. Only today did it start to occur to me what that means.

Our birth hospital has a reputation for being incredibly "good." It caters to women (oh, here I go, shame on me!) with bigger diamonds on their fingers than I have, many of whom found it quite strange to hear that I'd had a natural childbirth. I am by no means opposed to medical intervention, and certainly, we could have decided on a home birth and arranged for that experience. Part of me wishes we had, but alas, here we are. I have thus far been gifted with a body that knows what to do with pregnancy and childbirth and for these gifts I am beyond grateful. When I prepared for Avi's birth I kept an open mind regarding medical intervention. It just turned out I didn't need any.

Despite the cadillac quality of the birth rooms at this hospital (many equipped with tubs and other lovely things I never experienced), it remains a hospital. I work in a hospital. I don't love being in a hospital. There is something cold and institutional about being there--to me they represent sickness. This morning I was told that I would have an I.V. inserted upon my admission to give birth. For some reason, this shocked and upset me. I became the resistant patient (and I am such a mega-pleaser; this is really not my style) and my nurse became firm. I get her reasoning. She assured me the I.V. would offer no restriction to my movement, but my ears literally began to hurt as she told me this. She also assured me that my experience would be great and easy and smooth, that the nurses would leave me alone and we could more or less do what we wanted as long as there weren't any problems.

It doesn't escape me that I have been incredibly blessed with now 2 healthy pregnancies while many women struggle to conceive, much less carry infants to term and give birth without problems. I don't take these blessings for granted, nor do I believe that my "experience" of delivery ultimately matters all that much. My mantra remains, Healthy baby; healthy mama, and yet I still have all this anxiety about the hospital.

So here I sit on my couch, typing because it helps me process my feelings and get some perspective. The living room floor is littered with toys and the kitchen covered with the remains of my lunch with Avi (um, and breakfast; I almost drank some syrup in a coffee mug, having mistaken it for coffee. There are worse things). There is a pack of Snackimals, these wheat-free oatmeal cookies he loves (I just like to say Snackimals), on the ottoman, that he'd kindly brought to me after I finished my sandwich and was eying his. "You want something else, Mommy?" he inquired politely. "Here you go; have some Snackimals," like he was some big kid and not at all the kid who was having a meltdown in the doctor's office this morning. I love him so much.

Last week we weathered two bike accidents; one was Leeor's, the other was Avi's. Both of my guys are on the mend (Leeor had a bike malfunction that resulted in a trip to urgent care--thankfully nothing was broken--while Avi's spill resulted in a busted lip and a few scrapes he shows off proudly) and I am somewhat spent after I have cleaned the place, washed clothes and stocked my fridge and pantry as if I am waiting for the big quake to hit.

I have thought I was in labor a couple of times now and then have been both disappointed and relieved when the contractions slowed to a stop. I got to go to yoga with my favorite teacher and it felt marvelous to get one more chaturanga in (and I do mean only one; it was knees-chest-chin the rest of the time), as well as some beautiful, timely lessons about acceptance of what is . . .Maybe I have been so vague about "planning" for this birth because I believe there's only so much we can plan . . . most of it happens the way it's "supposed to" and all I can do is take deep breaths and let my body take over.

Yesterday we had family here and it was so lovely. I got acupuncture and reiki from my brother and sister in law while Avi was doted upon by his grandparents and auntie. Avi has a new musical obsession--The Sound of Music--and he charms us all with his singing and dancing.

I set up the co-sleeper next to my bed and he likes to get into it "just for a minute." There is a new dresser in Avi's room, kindly bought for us by generous relatives in Isreal, put together by Leeor, Saba and Safta (without swears. it was amazing), and Avi likes to look at the drawers filled with baby clothes. He has been calling her "my baby" and has even offered to let her wear his pajamas, "She can wear my moose jammies, and I will wear my Auntie Maital jammies." I interpret this to mean that there is enough to go around.

My parents, friends and extended family keep checking in--still no baby? To this I reply, nope. Not yet. But soon she will arrive and we will be swept up in the light that her little being will bring. I can't wait to meet her. Avi says he will sing "Old Mc Donald" to her when she cries in the car. Until then, I will do my best to tame the manic beast within that wants to scurry around and attend to everything outside of myself. Now is the time--better late than never--to attend to myself, to this little girl about to be born, to the love that will overflow with her presence. . . Here we are, right where we belong . . .