Time for another Socks update! I’m probably four weeks behind now, but two of those are because what with house moves and baby showers, we didn’t have our OirishTirsday phone call for two weeks. The other two weeks’ delay is just me being my usual slacker self. I need to be more diligent, because I only have four weeks left of baby-cooking blogging left. That’s right, four short weeks – and that was as of last Thursday.
I won’t be continuing on talking about Socks and Button after Button makes her big debut. I will probably relate a funny story or two along the way forward, but that’s because Socks makes me laugh more than anyone else, and I just know she’s going to have me puking laughter as she learns how to be a mom.
Because she doesn’t have a clue. She’s not a baby person. She doesn’t go all gooey and giggly and want to hold them when she sees one. Remember way back when, she said she wasn’t having kids because they are oooky? Aha hahahah. So, not a lot of hands on experience. Her mom asked her if she had enough diapers – her response was an honest, “How the hell should I know? I don’t know how many I need. I don’t know how many a baby uses!” Mom asked for the count on hand and said it would do.
So, despite being a complete neophyte at taking care of a baby, she seems to have things well in hand and all sorted out. Socks is a planner, a reader, and a listener – and she’s especially skilled at listening to her own body. She’s met her paediatrician, and likes her, and will take a tour of the hospital this Thursday. She’s sorted the supplies, equipment, and fun stuff from her baby shower and has actually – finally – started buying things for Button! I’m not joking, she didn’t buy anything until now. Shopped, researched, planned – but no purchases. But even now that the crib is bought, the baby carrier is bought, and the diaper bag still being sought (hey, it’s a hard decision: it has got to be pretty cool, she’ll be carrying the damn thing everywhere for the next…forever…) she says it still doesn’t feel quite real.
It doesn’t really matter, though, not knowing how everything is going to be, because there is no way, ever, any new mom can know how it’s going to be. All the preparation in the world won’t make a difference, so why stress about it? Being parents isn’t going to feel real for a while, I suspect. At first, the incessant changes will come so hard and fast that there won’t be time to realise a routine is being created. And babies grow so fast, the changes never stop.
I think maybe, just maybe, that by the time Button is old enough to go to school it might feel real.
In the meantime, Button is nearly as physically mature as she can get inside there. Her lungs have a bit more developing to do, but she’s already practicing breathing. She probably will gain another pound in this last month – and Socks is wondering just where that’s going to fit as she is chock full o’ baby already. I have an example from last week, which is something that has probably only gotten worse… Socks can’t get off the couch by herself any more. It takes forever to get comfortable in a position where she can breathe because Button has her butt right up under Socks’ ribs, squashing her lungs and stomach. Once she’s down on the couch, there’s no way back up without a helping hand from Bear. I guess if he’s not home, she doesn’t nap on the couch…
Bear, of course, is even farther back on the ‘feel real’ scale. He’s hoping he can help with the birth via text.
Oh, and is it wrong of me to laugh my ass off at her description of what her swollen feet look like after wearing flip-flops? I’m picturing perfectly manicured toenails on the Pillsbury Dough-Girl’s feet.
(yes, there was a Dough-Girl in the early 70’s. My sister had this very set, and I’m sorry I stole this photo from the net but if I had them still, I’d take my own photo, I promise. Maybe is sis still has them she’ll offer me a non-nicked shot).
Finally, I’d like to offer my prediction that Socks isn’t going to go all the way to her projected due date. That baby is huge and I think she’s at least a week further along: not only because Button is more like a bowling ball than a nice polite mother-of-pearl ornament, but because Socks had one scan early on that indicated she was farther than her obstetrician thought. For some reason, I really believed those people.
Then again, I’ve been known to be wrong. I ever so much wanted Button to be twins so I could really laugh my ass off.