My first diaper service delivery was supposed to be on Wednesday. When my mom called to ask about it on Thursday, the service apologized immediately because they knew even before she told them who we were that they’d somehow missed me. So on Friday, my parents went and picked it up directly from the office and then brought it to my place so that we could see all the goodies. I now am equipped with a diaper pail and a partial week’s worth of diapers. They included samples of possible covers which I could choose to rent for an exorbitant fee and the pleasure of laundering them myself. Yeah. I’ll be buying my own diaper covers. Or my mom will be making some. (Seriously, the rental for the diaper covers is more than the cost of the diapers, and they don’t launder the covers for you. Something doesn’t quite make sense to me in that picture…) And I still need diaper pins, but that will be taken care of today.
And the bump has behaved thus far. Yes, I’ve had some random Braxton Hicks contractions, but they are truly random, so not even enough to make me think that maybe this is real. Our self-study is almost written and about 1/3 of our performance-in-practice files are assembled. I’ve told the bump that momma needs to work for at least one more week, but if we can hold on through Friday, work should be in good shape for momma to go on leave. I probably would have gotten more done this past week, but we had a consultant in to review our department. Probably the best part is that he’s a former ACCME surveyor, so we went through the draft of our self-study with him and got a lot of excellent suggestions for rewording things to make them sound as compliant as they truly are. He thinks we’re in good shape. And he thinks that one of the criteria we’ve been concerned about getting a progress report on is arguable. That is to say, he thinks we have a good case for it being considered compliant and therefore not requiring a progress report. I still don’t see us getting accreditation with commendation, but maybe we actually will! (And that would mean I won’t have to go through this for another six years instead of four!)
And then on Friday as I was getting out of the shower, I looked at myself in the mirror and asked the bump if it thought we had dropped a bit. Not a lot, but it just looked a little bit lower. Since, as mentioned above, I have expressly told the bump that it’s not allowed to be born for at least another week, I tried not to think about it. But when my mom and I went to the market on Saturday, she asked me the same thing. Again, she didn’t seem to think that I’ve dropped dropped, but there’s just more room between the girls and the bump than there had been before. This did not, however, preclude the bump from kicking me in the ribs while in bed last night.
And I’m not ready. Not really. Nine months may have been a long enough gestation for a twenty-year-old to figure out who she was while in Rome, but it’s not nearly long enough for a thirty-five-year-old to prepare herself for motherhood. I know some women reach 38 (okay, almost 39) weeks and are ready to be done being pregnant. I’m not. I’m not ready for that next step yet. I mean, what was I thinking?!? But then I do something like go and get my hair done, and Yalanda asks about how labor and delivery will work. And I tell her that my friend Nicki will come over and she’ll stay with me until it’s time for her to take me to the hospital. And Yalanda tells me to remember that she lives really close. (I mean REALLY close. Like two buildings over close.) So if it’s an emergency, I should call her, and she’ll take me to the hospital. And I remember that that’s what I was thinking. I am surrounded by people who care, people who will be there.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m still scared. But at least it’s a healthy emotion.