The belly is dropped (kind of like a Kanye West album) and all of the things that should be dilated are including my eyes which are in a perpetual state of "oh my God." Our doula reccommended castor oil followed by me rubbing the nape of Meesh's ankles followed by sex. Castor oil, it seems, can only be found in a store in the 1950's so unless anyone has a time machine to lend us or a lovely Grandmother who has some hidden behind her ovaltine and Jackie Gleason DVDs, we're not castor oiling. Rubbing ankle napes, check. I got hands that can accupressure something right good. And as for the sex...umm...well lets just say we're having wonderful phone sex sans the phones. Meesh wants sex right now as much as you'd want to run a marathon with a migraine, swollen knees and a carry on suitcase attached to your front side.
But the baby is on its way. Bags are packed. Mixes are made: Broadway (for when Meesh feels inclined to get theatrical on our asses) Lilith Fair (for when Meesh feels inclined to be woman and roar) Beyonce et. al (for when Meesh feels inclined to get ghetto). I've got my flipcam (can't wait to see if I can record my baby entering the world and exiting the vag considering I faint watching people use needles on Intervention). And I've got my newfound education: infant CPR, spiritual mantras, breathing exercises...is this like the SATs? Study for months then get in the room and have no fucking clue which circle to use your Ticonderoga number 2 pencil on?
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1 comment:
ah Matt, only can me make giggle & cry in 1 paragraph!
& sir, u r wrong about the castor oil, my niece drank some on tues & baby everest was here wed am
so...it must be available somewhere
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