Things not to say when you’re checking the heartrate of someone’s fetus
*Dopple, dopple, dopple*
SIGH. Something’s WRONG.
*dopple, dopple, dopple*
SIGH! …. GROAN! ….It keeps STOPPING! I think it’s DYING!
But no, she was not referring to my fetus. Merely the doppler.
I have just had an intense work week, and I am having a baby in, officially now, FOURTEEN DAYS (God willing. Please don’t come early, Bunlet.) and I have entered that familiar stage of gestation where my husband seems like a massive asshole with his adolescent pouting (GROAN! SIGH! I’m so busy and tiiiiiiiiired! Yes I will do ONE of the many thousands of things I agreed to do months ago, but I sure will make it seem like a herculean effort and do my best to insinuate that you ought to be super grateful.) and my own anxieties and stresses make it feel like he’s all aggrieved and sulky even when he’s NOT, although at least this time I know that he’s an amazing father and will take fantastic care of all of us…except I have to complain some more, and note that when our nanny told him several months ago that she was taking vacation this week, he FORGOT all about it, and never told ME, and while he’s picking up two of the three days, he’s acting as if he’s doing me a favor, when in fact if he’d remembered this was happening, we could have planned for it, and no, I can’t just stay home, because you know why? Because HE’S the one taking two weeks off post Bunlet, and I’M the one about to be totally useless and FUCKING DEPRESSED and spurting milk everywhere and sporting a giant taped together HOLE in my gut, and so yeah, I might need to fucking go to WORK, because I do have a JOB, and it does require SOME planning to leave it to its own devices for months and I think that’s enough for one sentence.
Wow, I didn’t quite know all THAT was going to come out. Perhaps I will write something more gracious and reasoned…presently.