It takes a village to raise a child. African proverb

My son will be coming into a world that is ready and waiting for him. My grandmother has been knitting up a storm, knitting through the pain of her knotted fingers, ridden with arthritis. My mother turns Chinese names in her head day and night, thinking of something fitting for her first grandchild. Our apartment is slowly preparing itself and filling itself with items from friends and family to help nurture and care for our child. I feel loved and while I might not mentally feel prepared, right now our baby has a panda bear, a place to sleep, a new board book (all about sushi, naturally), and enough diaper covers to last quite awhile. We’ll be okay.

We’ll be okay.

***

We just finished watching Six Feet Under, via netflix, and the last three or four episodes had me bawling. Beyond the general storyline of the show, I realized how very much I loved the Fishers - how dysfunctional they were, how they fit well together and how they loved, oh how they loved. And then as I watched the storylines unfold I cried hard, thinking about the baby inside me and how one day he too will die, and god, he’s not even born now, what on earth am I going to do if he dies before me? And Josh -

(parenthetical interlude)
Josh and I met and started dating in earnest a week or so before September 11th, 2001. He lived close enough to the World Trade Center in New York to hear (and probably feel) the impact of the planes hitting the towers, and eventually fled the city to come to me in Connecticut. I have a saying that I’ll tell Josh every now and again: “If you die, I’ll kill you,” and here, I’m only half joking. Josh once explained the phrase to a classmate of his as evolving from the very real threat of death in our relationship from the beginning, and looking back on it, it totally makes sense.
(end parenthetical interlude)

- Josh is not allowed to die. Neither is Ava, but she is seemingly unswayed by my idle threats to her, and instead paws my breasts.

But man, all of the emotions and fears, coupled with this healthy dose of hormones I’ve got running up in my system meant crying for hours, and a restless sleep. And I know I’m totally being such a dork - god, it’s just a TV show, for crying out loud, but I can’t help it. Josh bought me one of the two soundtracks for Six Feet Under, and I’ve got it playing now, and I feel so teenagery maudlin. Lord.

***
Another OB visit and my blood sugar is doing fine. My blood pressure is slightly elevated (the first number was high - 128 something? over 78) but the doctor isn’t worried about it, and neither am I. For a high risk pregnancy, my pregnancy has been oddly normal. At around 34 weeks, we’ll have another ultrasound, and then talk about non-stress tests. The baby is kicking up a storm and I am having a lot of fun feeling his random limbs poke out. The other day I was laying down on the sofa and I saw my belly jump when he walloped me one.

I’m sure I’ll get sick of this soon, and in fact, if Baby Boy can stop kicking my cervix (I think he’s kicking my cervix) and especially my bladder, that would really rock.

Anyway, now the name of the game is to wait. Clean up a little, maybe, and wait.

I am really, really bad at waiting.