Everyone who knows me at all and has any inkling that I am about to have a baby has been asking similarly purposed, relevant questions each time we run into each other, namely “Are you ready/getting excited about the birth of this baby?”  I think they are concerned that I have forgotten that I am supposed to be glowing and joyful in my expectation or perhaps they are worried that my lack of gushing excitement is some sort of pre-partum depression or an indication that I should not be having a fifth child if I can’t muster up some excitement?

Regardless, I always feel a little bit like a lousy mother when I admit the truth, “You know, the miraculous birth of a brand new life completely dependent on our provision and love has totally escaped my priorities list so far.  I’m really more focused and preoccupied on remedying the mess I made rearranging our bedroom or on solving the mystery of why the children’s room has phantom electricity that randomly quits working for days at a time.”  You can replace that last part with pretty much any of the jobs, projects, randomness that I’ve had on my mind lately and it would still be true.  No my bag isn’t packed (my friendly neighborhood teenager and I did manage to place some newborn sized outfits in it yesterday, does that count?), no “oh I can’t wait to see what this baby actually LOOKS like!” swooning (don’t worry, she has been amply swooned over by our other children: “I can’t WAIT to see….” “When she comes out…” etc.)

Poor neglected infant already.

But today after going in for the whole ‘pre-op’ testing thing and coming home thinking ‘to do before tomorrow’ thoughts followed quickly by realizing that most of the items on the agenda were moot, finished or largely unnecessary, I found myself pretty excited about the whole get there at 5am, meet new baby, precious bonding with father and infant “wonder what she’ll be like?” type thoughts were finally emerging.

That was before they called to tell me that I didn’t have to be there until 9:30am.  Because instead of having this baby at approximately 7am, they want me to wait until 12:00pm.

The motherly, sweet infant thoughts evaporated instantly.  Now, I’m just annoyed.  I’m fickle that way.

You see, now instead of blanking everything out of my mind except the wonderfulness of new baby arrival, I am now mentally starting a new ‘to do list’.

There is a simplicity about getting up before anyone else, accomplishing things for yourself and leaving before your responsibility to/for the other household persons even kicks in.  It’s divine.

Now in place of beautiful new baby faces I find questions about whether or not we can reach the post office and also pick up swing batteries before we go to the hospital, whether I should push to get all the kids’ chores completed (more or less) before I leave or if I want to do something especially motherly and memorable to make up for the days I’ll be gone… (like what?  I don’t know?! Just another thing to think about)… and I’m also trying to tag all the situations that would require a scheduled C-section more than a day away to be rescheduled because it’s crucial… huh? (Don’t get me wrong, I’m absolutely positive that there are several good reasons, but somehow it would be less vexing if we showed UP at 5 and they said “We had an emergency, you’re rescheduled.”  At this point I find that I’m more wondering whether one of the participants in this whole ordeal simply doesn’t want to get up and moving by 5am…  which brings another question to mind: Matt?  Did you talk to my doctor today? j/k)

If I’m truly and completely honest, I’ll admit that most of my disgruntlement centers around my stomach.  They want me to not eat or drink anything after midnight.  When I was arriving there at 5am, that was not such a big deal… even though I am well aware that after the procedure, no matter HOW much better I feel NOT having a living breathing infant tearing apart my insides piece by piece (yes, I usually feel better immediately after the spinal wears off and the IV from Hades is removed compared to what I feel like that 9th month… it’s not normal, but true nonetheless), they will make me wait approximately 6 million years before they actually let me eat… excuse me.  I meant DRINK.  (It’s probably a matter of mere hours, but perception is what I’m going for here.)

Now, I have to wait approximately 6 million years before I can even start the clock for the already prepared for 6 million years. {YES, I DO want cheese to go with that whine!  Feel free to sneak me some at any point in the whole midnight tonight to 6 million years after noon tomorrow time frame!}

And to think I was feeling all peacefully maternal and sentimental earlier today… now I just feel ‘still pregnant’.

I’m fickle that way.