Can I have my kid now?

Contractions are still intermittent and while not strictly painless, not strictly progressing either.

I'm staying close to home, but I think it will be a while yet before we head to the hospital. Bags are packed. I have heard tell of women being in early labor for days, so I'm trying not to get too excited while still remaining on high alert.

Things worked out pretty well with our hospital situation - I'll be delivering at Arcadia Methodist Hospital, which is only 5 short minutes from my Grandma's house. She and my Grandfather (when he was alive) have spent many combined months there receiving treatment for all manner of ailments that oft accompany the privilege of longevity. So I am well-familiar with its pastel corridors and high quality of care.

But by far the best part about it is it is five minutes away from Grandma's house. If we want to be close to the hospital as labor progresses, we will go Grandma's and I will sit in the hot tub. When we're ready to head to L&D, we will be scant moments away from the campus. And best of all, my immediate family will have a close, comfortable place to park it that is not Arcadia Methodist. This thrills me to no end, because I don't want them there.

I think I might have hurt Mom's feelings a little bit when I told her in the nicest possible way that I am only interested in having the Fatherbeast present during delivery. Grandma is almost 90 years old and should stay at home until it's time to visit. My uncle and father (both step- and bio- divisions) could really give a fig what goes down as long as Nova and I are safe and healthy. Mom wants to be there though - and it's tough to disappoint her.

There are some concrete reasons for wanting privacy: I don't want to worry about anything except the process at hand. If I am wondering whether they are tired or hungry or bored or afraid for us, this will be distracting. I don't want to be concerned about being cordial. If I am in A Lot of Fucking Pain, I don't want to be a Brave Little Toaster so as to spare my mother the anguish of watching her own child experience such discomfort. And I don't want any pictures until after the fact.

But mostly I am looking forward to sharing this experience with the Fatherbeast alone. The circumstances surrounding Nova's conception were unconventional and tumultuous. The Fatherbeast and I met in person for the first time 363 days ago. The decision to keep her was not automatic, and neither was the decision to raise her together.

It's true that we are a part of a tightly woven community of loving, supportive and generous people. The joys and benefits of this are apparent even to casual observers who might not understand some of our customs. There are drawbacks, however. And when people are Very Concerned about your wellbeing, and want to Pull Together As A Community to Support You, it can be difficult to get them to Mind Their Fucking Business.

We have enjoyed as much judgment as support, and entertained as many probing inquisitions as we have genuine offers of help. We have been assisted, and adored and doted upon. We have also been frustrated, and even shocked by what people have said about us - to each other and to our faces. This is what it's like to be part of a solid community that really cares about you and knows you intimately. People want The Best for you, and can't wait to share what they think that looks like.

At a point in our chronology when most couples would be traveling, greeting the sunrise with martinis and dancing to loud music, we are doing shit like deciding whether we want to use cloth or disposable diapers. It's about as fun as it sounds. All of this while we are both experiencing profound physical and hormonal changes. All of this while we are getting to know each other, negotiating what we want from our relationships, from our partners, from our lives.

I have come to know The Fatherbeast more intimately and more thoroughly than anyone else who has been in my world for such a short duration. We have had to fast track communication skills that people develop over years of intimacy, not months. It has been challenging, and also gratifying. I am proud of him. I am proud of us. I feel that we are cultivating our energies correctly.

We know that we have the support of our chosen and biological family, and we appreciate it. We will rely on it in coming weeks and years. But the most difficult challenges of creating and holding space for this baby have been undertaken by me and her dad. When we meet our daughter, nobody else needs to be there. Nobody else should be there. We brought her here. She belongs to us. We belong to her. The process of becoming a whole new entity and the moments immediately before and after have nothing to do with anybody but the three of us.

Yes Mom. You can visit first. When we're ready.

Cramps.

Just like the monthlies... waiting, waiting, waiting.

38 weeks, 3 days

Again: if the shape, attitude and consistency of my ladyparts is not something you want to read about, perhaps I can direct you here.

I'm pretty sure I've been losing my mucous plug in pieces over the past week or so. As of last night, however, I began to see some spotting. Is the bloody show on the road?

All last night and this morning, intermittent and occasionally painful contractions. At the moment, nothing. I'm just very tired.

37 weeks, 5 days

The Fatherbeast and I took a lovely walk around The Devil's Punchbowl today - two fault lines converging into a canyon of jagged cliffs and waterfalls and pointy point yucca plants. It was nice to get out of the city, and get something that resembled exercise.

Just in case, I threw my packed hospital bag into the back seat with me. Unfortunately, no need.

Come out already! It's nice out here! We have nature..! And boobies! YOU'LL LOVE IT.

Early, but not too early.

What is happening to me, physically?

Well at 36 weeks, Ms. Thang weighed in at an estimated 6 lbs, 2 oz. She's much closer to 7 lbs now, and what's new is how solid she feels.

At the first quickening flutters, back when she was mango sized, the little darling felt like a butterfly or a pinball. She flipped upside down fairly early in the game - her feet are on my right side and have been for about 10 weeks. At first, it was novel feeling her work out her squats and deadlifts on my ribcage. Occasionally a shinbone would emerge and then just as smoothly recede into the evolving surface of my abdomen. I compared the sensation to a tiny person adjusting herself in a hammock (my pelvic floor, of course, is the hammock)

As time wore on and she grew in heft and girth, the nudges took on more force. "It's kind of like being kneaded by a kitty, except from the inside." I'd explain to people who would ask. The lump of shinbone (or heel, or whatever) took on the quality of a goiter - sticking out at an odd angle sometimes for a quarter hour at a time, until she decided to cross her legs the other way.

Now, in the Final Hours, we are like two strangers handcuffed together. Two particles with like charge trying to occupy the same space. 170 lbs of bone and guts in a 140 lb bag. Yes, there are gas and fluid exchanges, and endocrine cascades taking place. But the primary conversation now taking place between her body and mine is far less complicated:

"Scoot over."
"No, YOU scoot over."
"No, YOU."
"OW. Quit it."
"Why don't you turn on your other side?"
"Why don't you just COME OUT?"

Which is really what this is all about, isn't it? Around the 8 month mark, the amniotic fluid levels begin to decrease, buoyancy is impacted, Braxton-Hicks contractions ramp up in earnest, and I'm sure the internal climate is kind of like that moment when you realize that you've exhausted the hot water in the heater and your previously warm and comfortable bath is rapidly achieving room temperature.

I had been enjoying bouts of energy - not enough to want to stay at work, mind you, but enough to pull my house together. Now that I have taken leave, my days are strangely absent any structure. Historically, I do not thrive under these circumstances. I need to Go Places, and Do Things, and I suck at working from home. But I figured the impending baby and the nesting instinct would focus my drive somehow. Not so much. I'm tired. I'm ginormous. The Nesting Urge left me bereft today. And after all of the weird calisthenics of Tuesday, Ms. Thang is now strangely quiet. My womb itself is still. I'd had meager but real hopes for an early arrival. Now I'm just big and exhausted and endlessly fucking pregnant.

At least I don't have stretch marks. And my bag is mostly packed. And I have 1 week worth of meals in the freezer now. Again, absent the urge to cook or clean or alphabetize I felt compelled to stock up on the healthiest prepared Trader Joe's fare I could find. Which isn't so bad, really.

37 weeks, 4 days

I read frequently about insomnia at this stage of the game. Related generally to the inability to get comfortable, and getting up five times a night to pee.

I can't sleep, because now I'm all wired.. Yet I lack the physical verve to do constructive things, like pack my bag or do my dishes. So here I sit, in bed, blogging under mounds of cats.

They must sense that something is up. They have never been so focused on obtaining my affection before. Soon this lap will be occupied, kitties. What then?

37 weeks, 3 days

WHAT mucous plug?