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Time Flies When You're In Denial

Some readers, recalling my casual comments a few months back about another baby on the way, have been wondering why, apart from a single paranoid treatise on the perils of sibling rivalry, I have been strangely silent on this topic.

In response to the initial shock of confirmed pregnancy, my endocrine system apparently dumped a few quarts of RAH, Reality Avoidance Hormone, into my bloodstream. This precipitated a condition known as Gestational Abstraction, during which I was able to accept the pregnancy as an intellectual concept while remaining oblivious to it as a rapidly-approaching physical reality. By focusing on the minute details of the daily household routine, I was able to remain only dimly aware of, and unconsciously resistant to, the fact that things are about to change dramatically. Again.

Last week, my stalled-out sense of time finally began to collapse in on itself, and the big day (or night) loomed suddenly closer, bringing to mind one of my favorite bumper stickers: "Warning: dates on calendar are closer than they appear." This quantum leap of awareness was catalyzed by two events: The first was the official "home visit" by the midwife's assistant, normally scheduled a few weeks before the due date. The second was the simple act of making the bed, but this time with the custom addition of a rubber mattress cover.

That's right, you heard me. I said midwife. And rubber mattress cover.

Any lingering doubts I may have once had about home birth were obliterated when Emma was born, wonderfully, smoothly, and peacefully, at home, under the superb direction of our midwives. Not that we're neo-Luddites, mind you. We've had amniocentesis and sonograms, and we already know that another daughter is coming.

Clearly, this isn't the place to debate the relative merits of home versus hospital birth. If you are interested, you can educate yourself with the abundance of available information. Although Julia, Emma, and I heartily endorse home birth, it isn't for everyone in this day and age. I would venture to say that if the very idea of a rubber mattress cover pushes the limits of your personal comfort zone, then it might not be the thing for you.

Our morning with the midwife's assistant was spent discussing medical supplies, emergency phone numbers, and care for Emma, since she is too young, in our opinion, to be present for the main event. Somewhere during this meeting, my body's supply of RAH suddenly dried up, and the delivery date made remarkable forward progress in my mind's calendar of events. No longer a mere abstraction, it had suddenly become a concrete physical reality.

I suppose that the act of putting a rubber mattress cover on the bed did enhance this effect. It is difficult to ignore the ramifications of such an activity.

All of a sudden, I feel like I am ready. The reality has hit me like a ton of bricks, or at least like eight pounds two ounces (Emma's birth weight). For the past few days I have been bug-eyed and sleepless. No doubt, it's just nature's way of getting me prepared for the days and nights to come.

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© Todd Pinsky 1998-2002. All rights reserved.