| ::: ::: Journal entries: :::
::: Reading: Ransom, Jay McInerney Artifact:
This is in our backyard, and it has a specific purpose. Can you guess what for? No, not THAT - jesus, you guys are dirty.
| Friday, April 22, 2005
Okay, birth plans. Listen, my "plan" is to make it through the birth process without angrily devouring my husband's head like a praying mantis, and beyond that I can't imagine exerting too much control over the sequence of events. If I can't demand my own ass not to produce a pile of poo on the delivery table, then what's the point? No, I know there's important information you need to communicate, like you either want a canister of drugs shot into your side with an elephant gun, or you don't. But some of the requests I've read that other people have made confuse the hell out of me. Here's one: "I'd rather tear than have an episiotomy". Really? I'm being serious, here, is that better somehow? I mean, I am totally not looking forward to having someone hack open my Parts Down There with lawn clippers, or whatever they do, but would I rather rip apart like a fucking pinata? Wouldn't that be harder to stitch? And how about this: "I would prefer erythromycin eye treatment or other antibiotic eye drops instead of silver nitrate for the baby". What? What IS that stuff? How do people know about it? Shouldn't I let the doctors do their thing, being as how they went to, you know, medical school and all? Or am I a naive trusting jackass who should really be having her baby on a pile of leaves in the woods? GAH. And strollers. Dude, I can't figure them out. What's a "travel system"? Does it actually come with a car seat? So that means you don't have to buy a separate car seat, right? Or do you? What about those cool-ass jogging strollers? Are those too bulky for everyday use? Not that I jog, or anything, but I've been known to walk briskly at times, by god. Also, can someone tell me what is going on with the Bugaboo craze? Holy shit, that thing costs EIGHT HUNDRED DOLLARS, people. For that much money, it better cure diaper rash, put Junior into a 9 hour coma, and give me a pedicure with sparkly pink polish. What about money? What the hell were we thinking, having a kid without being able to afford a Bugaboo? And have you seen what daycare costs? I'm going to have to sell my body! And it will look like shit, all saggy and stretch-marked, so I'll have to be a blue-plate special whore who gets paid in single dollar bills! What if I can't afford to take any more time off from work than the 12 weeks they give me and since we didn't get on any waiting lists early enough we have to send the kid to Hoopty Daycare Inc. and what if Workplace won't let me work part time because the management team has turned into a collective Whack-a-Mole game and what if I really want to stay home for the first year taking care of the baby but we can't afford it? Why does the word Montessori sound so annoying? When am I officially going to start looking pregnant? Isn't there any way for babies to sleep that doesn't 1) kill them, or 2) cause their heads to get all flat in the back so they have to wear corrective helmets? What's this Fage yoghurt I keep reading about, and why am I not eating some now? In a related item, why did my husband think it would be acceptable to tell me that my hips are "looking bigger" the other day? Why am I so obsessed with Stephenie winning Survivor? When will - Right. Shutting the hell up....now. Have a good weekend! Me, I'm just going to spend some quality time panting heavily and sweating, thanks.
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