I’m staring at the bags I have packed when it’s time to go. Gabby’s diaper bag, filled with diapers, wipes, her coming home outfit. The boys bag, filled with a change of clothes, clean socks and underwear and a note to each of them telling them how much I love, admire and need them (in case, God forbid, something happens to me, I want them to know exactly how I feel about them.) My bag, filled with diaper sized maxi pads, nursing pads, girdle panties, and all that stuff I need to make my face pretty when I leave the hospital. Laying next to the bags are the cameras– Video, digital, 35mm. All ready to go when it’s time.
I’m so ready for this to happen and because I’m so prepared and ready to go, I can’t think about anything else.
I’m analyzing every contraction.”Oh, that one hurt, could this be it?” “Oh, that one lasted 45 seconds, maybe tonight?”
But nothing. I’m still here and she’s not.
I’m glad that when it IS finally time, we’re all prepared. There won’t be any scrambling to get things together. There won’t be any panic that I’ve forgotten something, because it’s all ready to go.
The only thing I’ll have to worry about is taking a shower right before we leave, as requested by my husband, because he’d like our daughter to be born (and I quote word for word) “out a freshly clean twat.”
HE’S THE BEST!
Now, when the hell is she going to decide to come out of my freshly scrubbed vagina?
Soon I hope, very soon. As in “tonight” soon.