Rebecca Barry of The Main St. Diaries has a pregnant sister in another state who is trying to have a home birth. But the baby is two weeks late and just doesn't seem to want to come out.
My little sister Emily is in labor. I'm so excited. She's in Oregon and I'm in upstate New York, and I really hate being this far away. Last night my older sister and I were talking about how if only Emily was within driving distance -- even if it was eight hours away by car -- we would drop everything and go.
"Well, not this minute," I said to our dinner guests. We were having our monthly open house potluck, which we decided to do a few months ago because we were having too many dinner parties and the dishes were just never getting cleaned. (I wish the Pick Up Fairy wasn't actually me, but was a real fairy who could come over and help out around here once in a while. I don't even care if she takes away my dishes for a week. We can use our wedding china as back-up.) So we decided to have one big party the first Tuesday of every month and so far they've been wonderful.
"Are they at the hospital?" said my friend Chris.
"They're having a home birth," I said.
"Oh," she said and added that her husband was too afraid of the mess to try that.
"I saw what the delivery room looked like after our first baby was born," he said shaking his head. "I wouldn't want to clean that up in my house."
I hadn't thought of that, since I had two c-sections (which is something I definitely wouldn't want anyone trying at home), but he makes a good point.
In any case, we're hoping for a new baby in the next twenty-four hours or so.
"You're going to have a new baby cousin!" I said excitedly to my children this morning.
Dawson held up a toy freight car. "This is a very helpful freight car. It carries ducks and bad, bad, bad girls." (?)
"Will my cousin want to play with my trains?" said Liam.
"Probably," I said.
Liam thought about this for a minute. "She can stay in there a little longer," he said.
No she can't. Or he. He's already almost two weeks late. This is very bad for the Mommy. I know because Liam and Dawson were this late, and I remember at this point in the pregnancy with Liam I would get up every day and say loudly to my belly, "Today would be a great day for a birthday! If I could pick my birth date, I would choose this beautiful sunny day." And then by the afternoon I would turn to my husband and start to cry and say, "When the f-- is this thing coming out? It's like a tumor that kicks me! I'm going to kill myself." And then that would eventually give way to a strange sort of resignation, like, fine. It's fine. I'm never going to have this baby. I'll just be 50 years old and pregnant. It's okay. I'll manage. I'll learn to live with this stomach. Someone else is going to have to tie my shoes, though.
But they all come out one way or the other, so come out little baby! If I could pick any day for a birthday, I would pick this beautiful, cold, February day.
Will Rebecca's sister have her baby?