june 5, 2003.

My Grandmother is Blissfully Ignorant Dept.

One of my 4th cousins on my mother's side gave birth recently with the help of a douella. The baby was a breech presentation, so she had to have a C-section (the cousin, not the baby). Inevitably, my grandmother was sniffy about the douella (as she is sniffy about all medical innovations that occurred past 1972), for she believes there to be some sort of connection between the two facts.

Since my latest comments on douellas, I've learned a lot more about them, and if I were giving birth with a doctor in a hospital, I would definitely consider putting the money aside for one. But since I'll have two birthing coaches who can actually deliver the baby, I don't really need a douella. It's like icing a cookie - yummy but pointless.

Anyway, my mother was telling me this, and she started to giggle.

"She's just so ignorant," she chuckled. As pregnancy brings out the mischief in me, I had an idea.

"Let's exploit her ignorance for our own amusement. Tell her that the midwives come with a salsa band that will be playing during the delivery, because it's considered best now for a newborn to emerge dancing to a hot Latin beat."

I wonder how long we could string her along?

I had a bit of an emotional breakdown last night. I started thinking about my failures as an adult: how I can't remember when to change the oil or pay my credit card bill, and how I have a tendency to let laundry go until I run out of underwear. I began to wonder how on earth I'd manage to keep a tiny infant alive.

Cried for a bit but cheered up soon. The Boy was wearing white bunny ears; that always helps the mood (last weekend we each wore a set and we couldn't stop laughing the entire day). Bunny ears make everything better. They don't take away incompetence, but they make it more palatable.

Last night I also found out that the nutritionist who signed me up with my gym membership has been sacked. I've been concerned for awhile, since she never spoke to me past the initial consultation & my food charts have been languishing since before I got pregnant. I would hate to think that my lovely trainer Nike was sharing her salary with this no-account.

Anyway, the discussion with Nike uncovered a number of gaps in my initial assessment (i.e. almost nothing was assessed, and the bits that were done weren't recorded). Nike went over my goal chart & changed it to more realistic ambitions. I pretty much knew that I'd never see a 28" waist again without a wasting disease, but hey - if I can get to 31 (my new goal) after the Sprout emerges, I'll be dancing topless in the streets.

2 years ago today: sitting, drinking