With every holiday season comes an (awesome) long weekend of Thanksgiving thankfulness. This year, I spent 4 days with my uncle and aunt in their new beautiful home. Among the eating and drinking and laughing and drinking and napping and… drinking, was a very pregnant aunt – nearly 9 months (37 weeks).
I’m sure having family over was a blessing; she’s been on bed rest for 2 weeks communicating solely with her 21 month toddler, Elmo, and her husband.
These 4 days of intimate time with a pregnant woman were enlightening, to say the least. It’s not often one spends more than a few hours with anyone… let alone someone baking a human inside their body. I rummaged through feelings of sympathy, love, empathy, fatigue, inadequacy, amazement, sympathy, fascination, concern, bravery, hope.
Most of the time, when I think about my near future, I can’t imagine creating a human because… another one of me? That’s crazy. To create it (with who?), bake it 9 months (ouch), deliver it (kill me now), 3 months of cabin fever (woof), lifetime of worry (no thanks!).
But then I’m like… I was such a cute baby. I totally should. Stop thinking about the negative feelings, Suaz. Babies are beautiful and life-changing and something only women can do … and, well, why wouldn’t I do something so awesome.
Then I really do revert to flashbacks of my aunt in what’s called “slow labor” or “pre labor” this week. The poor girl is having mild contractions that aren’t progressing so she’s in this turmoil of, “is the baby coming tonight?” “the baby didn’t come last night…” “when is this baby coming?” The uncertainty discomfort would drive me up a wall.
Note: I haven’t even touched on the baby girl’s rotisserie aerobics classes in her uterus pushing her head into her spine and punching her bladder.
Seriously, you should all pray for the lucky bastard that chooses to have a child with me.