After yesterday’s midwife appointment, as we were driving home, Chris finally admitted to some sort of uncertainty: “I can’t believe you’re going to be early. I’m not ready to be a daddy yet.”
My heart melted for him. Throughout this whole process he has been so ‘tough’ and almost obnoxiously blasé about the fact that he’s going to be a father.
Example: we were lying in bed at a few minutes after midnight on Sunday and I whispered, “Holy fuck honey, it’s February.” He was silent. “I’m having a minor freak-out,” I continued, prodding him, “seriously dude, we’re having a baby soon.” He shrugged. I said again, “We’re having a baby,” and he finally replied: “Yep.” I could have punched him, but instead I grumbled, “FINE, JUST GO TO SLEEP THEN,” and, with all the dignity and grace of a beached whale, rolled over to turn my back to him.
So when he finally said that in the car, I kind of fell in love with him a little more.
Arriving home, we got ahold of The Grandmas. I talk to my mom on MSN almost daily, so I updated her on what Georgia had told me, and she tells me not to go into labour tomorrow (today now!) since there’s supposed to be a snowstorm. Chris called his mom and left one of his typical messages: “It’s me, call when you’re home.” At this point, I’m still cramping and there’s some light spotting going on, and it feels like as soon as I drink water I have to pee all over again. My abdomen is tightening off and on.
He goes into madman cleaning mode. The living room is now arranged for us to pull the air mattress out into, and the mattress itself is inflated in the nursery. He scrubbed the floor all around where we’ll be setting it down, even to the point of lifting our rugs and cleaning beneath them, then vacuuming the rugs. He told me to go pack a hospital bag “just in case” (you know, one of those things I should have done weeks ago and hadn’t). We hung up the pictures in the nursery finally, since it was high time for them to stop colonizing the top of the dresser. Sometime during all this, his mom calls back and apparently freaks out over the thought of me being early to deliver, then hangs up to reschedule her flight again (first she was scheduled for February 1st, then February 12th).
As he’s scrubbing the floors, she calls back and I answer. She’ll be here on Friday the 6th. “You need to put your feet up, cross your ankles, not exert yourself, and keep that baby put until I get there!” she informs me. Laughing makes my crampy self even achier, but I’m happy. I love how happy everyone else is. Even the chihuahuas seem bouncier than usual.
All night, I catch Chris watching me . One sharp contraction makes me exhale; another startles me with how intensely it comes on. I’ve hardly reacted and he’s already leaning over to rub my back and ask if I’m alright. The whole situation makes me laugh, as if I’m in danger of suddenly going straight into active labour and we’ll end up with a baby in a few hours. Labour will come when it comes!
But now it feels like that time is so… damned… close.