10.30.08

OK, maybe I'm not as ready for this as I thought. I can handle the blood, I can handle the pain, I can handle strange hospital smells... I can even handle pooing on the table if it comes to that. What I can't seem to manage is sitting in a room with other, more mature adults, next to my husband and watching close-up shots of vaginal deliveries without laughing. Or listening to women moan as they demonstrate La Maze breathing at 25 weeks. It just makes me think of how they got themselves in this place to begin with. And forget about maintaining my composure when the Doula instructed everyone to "relax the perineum and release all tension from it." With a husband like mine, there's simply no way to act maturely. And finally, I REALLY cannot keep from busting out in inappropriate hysterics when the narrator of the breastfeeding informational video, circa 1990, refers to the "areela". What the heck is that? Oh, you mean the areola? And is that a stuffed breast the lactation consultant is holding in her hand? Because those are the hugest areelas I've ever seen in my life.

So, God, I understand if you think perhaps you made a mistake allowing me to become a mom. I'll try harder to grow up and not snicker if I ever happen to see a woman's water break like Old Faithful as she lays spread eagle on a table. My life is kind of about 95% laughter and 5% seriousness and sometimes I have difficulty knowing when to pump up the serious factor. But I'll try. We certainly don't want to raise "that child" who points and giggles when her 5th grade teacher says "do it" or accidentally draws the torso of her stick figure a liiiiitle too long in the nether region. That would be embarrassing.