MY, you are all eager to get rid of me! (BYEEEEEEEEE BUNNY! C U WOULDN’T WANT 2 B U!) But you have two more weeks of my whiny and tedious posts to endure before you get that break. I just think ahead a lot, and get worked up about things that often turn out not to be problems at all. I do thank you for the suggestions, particularly the Mile High Club option. Because I got to envision keeping my hips elevated for fifteen minutes in the airplane bathroom, and emerging to be arrested by an Air Marshal. AWESOMEST CONCEPTION STORY EVAH!
Moving on. Last night I dreamed I gave birth to triplet boys. (I think your predictions are starting to affect me, Sienna!) Because I delivered them myself, I had to make sure they were all breathing, which I did by performing the Heimlich. Good mothering from day one. Anyway, they were fine, and I sure loved gathering them all up in my arms. Sigh.
But the real baby invasion comes Sunday, when BFB and family will be moving into my house. For the everyone who doesn’t commit to memory the details of my life, she’s got a post-doc at UC Santa Barbara, and the time has come for them to depart. The baby has a doctor’s appointment that requires them to stick around for a few days after the movers have collected all their worldly goods, so we’re putting them up. I see this being either:
A) Totally fine. The baby sleeps through the night (and while my normal attitude is FUCK, can’t she just be hella colicky so that BFB can suffer a LITTLE? I mean, come ON! Instant, problem free pregnancy, four hour labor, perfect baby? FOR REALS?!?, now this feature works in my favor), so that won’t be an issue, and maybe it will be kind of like an extended sleepover. With boys!
B) Several days of intense heartache. On any given visit with BFB, there’s at least one moment of wretchedness, so what will happen when she’s in my face for days on end? I predict a certain amount of hiding in the basement.
At least it’s cool in the basement.