when i picture the birth of Waffle Recipe, there is a moment of giant happiness. of course it is immediately followed by a strange kind of sadness that the baby will not be put on my chest, will not be put on my skin. the slippery warm feeling of Smarty alive and perfect on my chest is one of those perfect experiences. a moment where i could almost believe in angels and a benevolent god. i want that again. and no, i cannot get into bed with S and have the baby put on both of us. there is no room in the bed of a laboring woman who has just pushed a giant baby out of her vagine (a word from Borat that S and i use ALL the time and nothing makes us laugh harder than saying that after the baby S’s “vagine hang like sleeve of wizard” oh lord).
of course i do not want to feel like all mixed up about the birth. yes, i had my turn at this, blah blah. but that makes it so much harder. when we did this the 1st time it was all either of us knew. this time i know what it feels like to have a slippery baby put on ME. i’m scared that this time it will be less special. that it will feel like her baby. i want to breastfeed. i want to be the one. i’m really scared that i will be partly sad when she is born, which feels selfish and wretched.
it is a bitter ugly feeling, and i had enough bitter ugly feelings while TTC.