What for how it took a long time to get to this place where I’m pregnant at all, let alone still pregnant, let alone can feel my fetus kicking like so many awesome ninjas ala Kill Bill, not actually getting to see this kid through the rite of passage known as my vagina would be a real shame. I’m looking forward to it – and, if we’re being honest, to a dimly-lit, private room with the 20-setting gurney, the birthing ball, the iPod dock and the spa tub.
They’re amenities that might not actually matter come B-Day, but which, from where I pregnant perch (and since I have no idea really), seem like welcome niceties…the stuff of lovely, uncomplicated birth stories. And one of the reasons we settled on this place to begin with.
They didn’t show us the operating room on our hospital tour. Probably they couldn’t. Or they figured we didn’t bring our sunglasses. Or it’s scary. I don’t know.
I do know placenta previa can suck it.
So it is that I’ve turned my meditative prowess toward willing it to reposition just enough to settle in to Chez L&D like I hoped I might. Like I still hope I might in spite of the fact that while our tour guide was showing us where we might access an extra supply of spa towels, we overheard the laboring lady next door not really giving a shit about 500 thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets.
Which is when it occurred to me (really occurred to me): Regardless of how she gets here, we’re having a baby!