Short List of Things to Do When You're More Than One Week Overdue With Second Child

1. Consume copious amounts of organic cocoa puffs
2. Yell at well-meaning husband
3. Assure toddler that "Mommy and Daddy were just being silly"
4. Ignore all phone calls, except for the one from afore-mentioned toddler's school, informing you of her apparent intestinal virus
5. Change copious amounts of stinky diapers
6. Wash hands with the frequency of a surgeon with OCD
7. Curse God, sex, and whoever happens to be standing within 50 feet
8. Lie awake at night pondering everything that could, and probably will, be wrong with fetus
9. Weep openly in grocery store when attack of sciatica leaves you breathless and temporarily paralyzed
10. Repeat to self: "Elephants are pregnant for two years. Elephants are pregnant for two years..."

Analyze This

I've had some phenomenaly wierd dreams this pregnancy, but none quite as disturbing as the one I had last night. In the dream, I was in front of a small audience and had for some reason been given the task of preparing a large cut of pork. The meat was odd-looking, sort of iridescent and purple, glistening under the harsh overhead lights. As I began to saw away, attempting to manuever two blunt knives around the hulking form, the audience grew agitated and started to scream.

"Pull it!!" they chanted. "Pull it, pull it, pull it!!!!"

They wanted me to pull the pork, not slice it. Try as I might, I could not figure out how to do this with two knives and luckily I woke up before things got really ugly.

I cannot begin to imagine from what subsconscious depths this material comes. Too much Top Chef? I don't think so--the worst you'll see on that show is some bleeped-out cursing, muttered after someone's cauliflower mousse doesn't end up with enough bacon essence, or something. Maybe it's a labor anxiety dream--like instead of everyone chanting "Push!"?

I don't know. Any dream analysts out there?

37 weeks

You know you're in a bad way when you start to resent not just individuals but entire species. The other day Sydney and I were browsing through one of her Highlights magazines when we came across a section devoted to different types of birds and their respective nests. Sydney wanted to know why there were eggs in the nests and as I explained to her that baby birds come from eggs which come from their mommies' bodies, I saw her glance at my belly. "People carry their babies in their tummies until its time for them to be born," I told her, "like Mommy has Baby Evan in her tummy. But birds get to lay eggs and so they don't carry their babies for very long in their tummies."

She seemed to accept this and we moved on. What caught me was my use of the word "get." Mommy birds get to lay eggs. How I hated those birds, with their svelte figures and smug expressions, dozing ever so peacefully atop their brood. But not as much as I hate mice, with their beady eyes and 20-day gestations. I might be tempted to add dogs and cats to the list, as they're only pregnant for about 2 months, except they also have to squeeze out an entire litter, which I don't envy in the slightest. Nor do I hate the elephants, who are forced to carry their spawn for almost two years--the mere thought of which makes me want to eat an entire box of ice cream sandwiches and take a nap.

The next day we took Sydney to the zoo, where I found myself enthralled by the elephants. Poor girls. If I were them I'd want to stomp the shit out of some birds.

Seriously?

I subscribe to a couple of pregnancy e-newsletters, not as much for the information--which tends to run along the lines of "you're probably having a lot of heartburn this week" and "you might want to start a dialogue with your doctor about what type of childbirth experience is right for you"--as for the opportunity to remind myself that I am actually making progress. Last week, however, one of the newsletters offered a section on the topic of sex during pregnancy, with this rather bewildering piece of information:

If you engage in oral sex, your partner should not blow air into your vagina. Blowing air can cause an air embolism (a blockage of a blood vessel by an air bubble), which can be potentially fatal for mother and child.


Now, I don't know about you, but I have a hard time imagining how something like this might actually become a part of a couple's sexual repertoire. I mean, seriously.

Smoker

My regular route to work takes me past the American Cancer Society office on River Road and Labarre. Today they appeared to be having some sort of function, with tables and a tent and a bunch of people milling about. As I turned on to Labarre I saw a man standing at the outside edge of the group, wearing a suit and smoking a cigarette. It struck me that it takes a particular brand of hubris to smoke a cigarette at an ACS function. Someone should either slap that guy or shake his hand.

This morning it just struck me as kind of awesome.

From the Mouths of Babes

You sure do get a lot of attention when you're pregnant. It can be particularly awkward in my line of work, and it has become clear to me that many of my clients have no idea how--or whether--to react to my pregnancy. Now that my belly sticks out like a basketball and, try as I might, I have to waddle down the hall to greet them in the waiting room, the people I counsel have no choice but to acknowledge the situation. They are kind people, all of them, and they mean well, but for me it is almost unbearably awkward--something like the nightmare where you show up to class wearing nothing but your gym socks.

While everyone has been kind, and I have yet to hear the sorts of things some pregnant women are subjected to--"You look like you're ready to pop!" or "You sure you don't have twins in there?"--I am forced to wonder how truthful everyone is being. The other day Sydney was lying on my bed while I got dressed and when I finished and turned around to walk out of the room, she laughed, pointed at my midriff, and shouted "Mommy, you look silly!" She then proceeded to repeat said proclamation over and over, laughing with the gleeful abandon of one who has yet to develop those buzz-killing social skills we adults are forced to employ.

So. Who should I believe?

Things I Find Troubling, Bewildering, or Just Plain Unacceptable

1. (Bewildering) Truck parked across the street from our house, presumably involved in some sort of construction/renovation. Yolk-yellow, scuffed-up plastic testicles dangling from the rear bumper. Why? At one point in time this sort of accessory may have seemed clever or maverick or whatever, but now it just strikes me as sad.

2. (Troubling) Those who despise Hillary Clinton. Again, why? I have friends, Democrats even, women even, those who would likely describe themselves as liberals, who spew such intense vitriol when her name is mentioned that I can just barely tolerate the "discussion." Granted, I went for Obama in the primary and generally prefer his approach to Clinton's, but I would have gleefully skipped to the polls to vote for either one of them. But I guess, as a whole, we still do hate women that much.

3. ( Unacceptable) Yesterday, as I checked in to my bi-monthly OB appointment, the receptionist gestured to a box on the floor full of black bags and asked if I would like to have one. I saw what looked like a picture of a bottle on the cover of one of the bags, so I bypassed my immediate impulse to always accept free stuff and asked what was in the bags. Formula samples, she replied. I politely declined her offer and she gazed at me, obviously bewildered. "But they're free," she said.
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Today I am 34 weeks and 5 days pregnant. I am ready to be done. I envy those women who love being pregnant, because I truly don't. More than the physical discomforts I dislike the emotional issues, the anxiety, the waiting, my inexplicable inability to write or read anything even remotely reflective while gestating. Last time, when I became pregnant with Sydney, I had been working on several short stories and writing consistently, reflectively, powerfully I thought, every day. No sooner than the pee hit the stick did I dry up entirely--I couldn't write, couldn't think, couldn't sit down and do it. I've had a similar experience this time, as evidenced by my hiatus from the blogosphere. At first I blamed it on confidentiality: I hadn't told any of my clients I was pregnant, and I couldn't imagine not blogging about the pregnancy. But even after they were all told, after everyone knew, I found myself coming up empty. What is that? Why does that happen?