While I was waiting for my teeth whitening trays to season, I decided to flip on the tube. I scanned through the programs, trying to find something remotely entertaining on the daytime line up. I happened upon TLC's A Baby Story, followed by Bringing Home Baby. Since DH was on the couch laptopping nerdy things (as usual), I decided he wouldn't really care if I subjected us to an hour of "girly shows." What I didn't know is that when it was over, I'd be somewhat emotionally distraught.
I'd watched the shows several times before while dreaming and pondering what my future children and pregnancy(ies) might be like. I always found it adorable how the courageous mommy would be wheeled into the delivery room while the I'm-just-going-to-pretend-I'm-not-going-to-barf daddy stood supportively by her side as she writhed in pain and birthed their little bundle of joy.
This time it wasn't so enjoyable. This time I couldn't ignore the pain and suffering and I certainly didn't find it as "viewing pleasure." In fact, for the first time, I had the inward and outward realization that, "HOLY *&^%!! This is going to be ME in a few months!!" I sat in sheer horror as I watched, though mostly blurred, the amount of blood and carnage that poured from that poor woman's body.
After that was over, the next show was about Baby's first 36 hours at home. I watched as the zombie-like sleep-deprived parents tried to muster enough strength to smile into the camera as they wiped slimey yellowish dung from their new baby's behind.
Don't get me wrong, it's not like I didn't KNOW all of this before. But before, to me, women with children were like some sort of special breed built to handle the battles of mommyhood. They smell naturally like baby powder and their vocabulary simply consists of all things baby. It's just it used to be THOSE ladies with kids. Now it's ME with a baby on the way, and it's extremely surreal.
If everything turns out okay, God willing, soon it will be me up to my elbows in poopy. Will I be able to lie to all my friends, "Oh, it's just like a bad backache. You don't remember the pain," like everyone has lied to me!? How will I not strangle DH when he ever-so-cutely "demands" his evening tea when I'm bouncing a baby on my hip? Will I too adjust to zombie life?
My life has been nothing but adaption to superficial procedures - such as learning to wake up to an alarm clock, use weather.com to plan my day and a machine to communicate with other humans. Now because of sights of needles and drugs and sterile rooms and the thought of people in scrubs soon hovering over my naked business and prodding me with steel instruments and monitors, I fear most the most natural process life has ever known. OH THE IRONY!
When does the animalistic instinct overpower the logic and kick me into mommy mode?!
For now, I think I'm just going to avoid any and all TLC daytime programming until I can figure this all out!!