Oh, Baby

Handy Chris putting together the bassinet.

I think about the upcoming arrival of our little girl constantly. She consumes almost every thought. And yet, when I really stop and think about it, I am absolutely shocked that we are going to have a baby. And soon. I think one reason that the idea jolts me is that this whole process has been extremely easy-peasy. Creating life was easy. And once the stick turned pink, there were no scary moments or emergency calls to the doctor. No bed rest. Was there constant worry, especially in the early weeks and months? Absolutely. But aside from morning sickness and the glucose scare, we’ve coasted through the last 8 months. It’s been easy. Too easy. Easier than we deserve, I sometimes think. So despite knowing that it is indeed a child kicking the crap out of my innards day and night, it wasn’t until Chris put together the baby bassinet that my in-laws sweetly gave us that I got my first serious wave of oh-my-goodness-an-actual-baby-is-going-to-be-sleeping-in-this-bassinet-and-that-baby-is-OUR-baby. The same thing occurred when the stroller and car seat arrived. Ditto for the changing table. And then there are the baby clothes. I have tried—truly, I have—to keep the baby-clothes buying under control. On the whole, I think I’ve done a pretty good job. I haven’t bought more than Charlotte will able to use, and I’ve been picky. This child will enter life during the coldest month of the year in DC. Therefore, I’ve made it a point to make sure we have lots of fleece, caps, and onesies that cover the whole leg and her little feet. Of course, I haven’t been able to really shop for myself because I’m the size of a whale so really, what’s the point? So I freely admit that some of that pent-up shopping zeal has been directed toward Miss Charlotte’s wardrobe. Still, we’re talking about a couple of items per age/size range. I swear. I have spent a ridiculous amount of time going through the clothes and imagining chubby little arms and legs filling them out. I get really excited. Then my stomach flips and I think, Not just any baby will wearing these little outfits. MY baby will. Then I realize that I’m going to be a mom. And I freak out just a little bit. As the baby gear increasingly accumulates I feel slightly ridiculous. There is A LOT of stuff in this apartment for someone who doesn’t even live here yet, and I’m torn between wanting to be ready and prepared, and wanting to avoid getting ahead of myself—sort of a watched-pot-never-boils sort of thing. Then, the other day, I was folding laundry and showed Chris the teeny tiny little newborn-sized undershirts that my brother and his wife gave us. “See?” I said, holding up one of the freshly laundered shirts. “I washed it with not-too-much detergent so it won’t irritate her skin.” I emphasized this tidbit about the detergent as though it was VERY important. Chris smirked. “You’re so ready,” he said. This smug statement went against every rational thought in my head. Ready? Me? I don’t think so. “What do you mean?” I asked. “You’re ready,” he repeated. “You’re ready to just start taking care of her. You’re ready to be a mom.” I returned to folding, stunned. He was right. He was totally, totally right.