Well, as my best friend told me this morning, you can’t worry about the things you have no control over. Natural disasters, random acts of violence, not having your baby on time…these are the things you just gotta let go of.
So in an attempt to embrace my destiny, to figure that everything is working out the way it’s supposed to, I have made my husband promise me a few simple things:
- if I have to get a C-section, he must order up a tummy tuck for the same time
- and no recuperating at the hospital – I want to be either home, at the Plaza or in France
- for every stitch and every tear, my dear darling husband must beat himself in the head with a rutabaga
- I have the right to be grumpy, demanding, and capricious from now until the day after Mother’s Day
- and speaking of Mother’s Day…nobody ever said no to jewelry <hint hint>
I think these requests are fair. I’m the one who’s having a 9-10 pound baby tomorrow. Oh I didn’t mention that? Yes, my midwife estimated Rocko’s size as between 9.5 and 10lbs as of this past Monday. Not that she couldn’t be totally off, but if she’s right…bring out that rutabaga.