Two boys.

   I walked my boy, Desmond, to school today. The second week of first grade. He is six years old. We usually walk with the day care kids from down the block but as hard as I try to get us outside in time to meet them, sometimes we are too late. This morning, I rushed his breakfast, making his lunch and snack, emptying the dishwasher, loading it up, breaking a sweat, tossing my wrinkled thrift store maternity dress off and onto the kitchen floor in frustration. My back aching, my belly making it hard to reach anything and everything. Then finally, done in time, I threw my dress back on and got us outside and there was no sign of the little kid parade that ambles by every morning. Could we have missed them again? We stood at our gate for a few minutes and then decided to walk. We walked side by side and I draped my arm over his shoulders, my hand hanging beside his neck. He reached up and held my hand and we walked this way, even though it was hot out already. 8:45 and summery, sunny, warm and still. Summer is keeping us company and is welcome to stay as long as it wants to. When the school day is done, we can swim in the pool and eat Popsicles. While we still can. Fall will be on it's way soon enough.
   Somehow we arrived at school early and I stood in the shade of a tree and watched Desmond play tag with a friend. Eventually, the day care kids arrived, right on time. I stood shifting my weight uncomfortably, self conscious of my size, my enormous belly sticking out, making my wrinkled dress a wrinkled tent. Trying not to catch any one's eye so that I did not have to see their amusement or shock or pity. I am big. I am a big 38 weeks pregnant. I tried not to get so big. Being the well trained vain American woman that I am. I tired to stick to the 25 pound recommended weight gain. I refused to gain the 60 plus pounds I gained when I was pregnant the first time, six years ago. The first time I got pregnant, I thought, "I'm gonna get fat. I'm gonna eat whatever I want and not care for the first time in my life." And I did. I got real fat. I look at pictures of myself and cringe. I stopped coloring my hair, no nail-polish, didn't eat all the forbidden things. I ate lots of pizza and bagels and cake. I was nauseous for a long time. I decided not to do that again. Alas, I have gained 42 pounds this time, so far. And the pounds keep coming. Okay, I lied. According to the scale this morning, I have gained 45 pounds. But the day before, it was 41 1/2. I am not sure what happened yesterday besides the celebratory enormous cheese danish I ate. It was so big, when I bought it I thought, "Half of this will be perfect." And half was perfect and the other half was just as good. I bought it to celebrate the decline of the head cold that was my evil tormentor for two nights and two days. And because I love cheese danish.
   This time I have kept my hair highlighted and have worn nail polish. I didn't go to a salon for my hair or nails, because of the fumes but I managed to keep up at home. Painfully painting my toe nails, determined not to "let myself go". Today, I will shave my legs. It must be done. It won't be a good time but I will swing it.
   Walking home after dropping Desmond off, I walked slowly. I practiced trying to walk normally and then reverted back to my pregnancy gate. My legs move differently, my hips turned out, my legs further apart, something.... it is different. I lean back to balance myself. I feel like a caricature of a pregnant lady.
   I walked past the funeral parlor across the street from our house. The funeral director and owner, our neighbor Jack, was outside, directing cars arriving for a funeral. We exchanged smiles and good mornings. He asked how first grade was going and how much longer until the baby comes. "Two weeks," I told him, "but sooner would be alright with me." He told me to rest. I looked up at him and into his face and thought about how he knows a lot about life leaving and anyone who spends so much time focused on life leaving, must also know something about life arriving. The comings and goings of lives.  So, I took his words to heart. Yes, I will rest. It is time for resting.
   I have been thinking how this impending birth is in a way like death. The way we lives our lives knowing we will die but not knowing when or how. Getting around it by acting as thought it won't happen. Assuming we will be here for a long time to come, ignoring the possibility that we may not be. Because how could you function otherwise. I am "due" to give birth in two weeks. If all goes as estimated and so expected, this should be pretty accurate. But really it could be any day. Or days or weeks after. It could have been any day since the day I got pregnant. Everything is a crap shoot. And all of this is a fat miracle and could go in any direction it pleases. So I pretend that everything is as we would like it to be, I expect the planned version of life and keep in mind that things rarely go the way we plan. Like knowing I will die but not knowing much else about it. I know I will give birth, and that this someone I have been helping to grow and carrying around inside of my body will be born soon. But I don't know when and I don't know how it will happen. I try not to think about it too much. Other than thinking about how I would like it to go. But even that is a very short play. I should probably spend some time imagining it all going very well and quickly. I think quickly is my main mantra. Please God, quickly. Easily, quickly. But, give me time to put on some make up. Let Desmond be in school. Let my husband be home. Don't let my water break on the couch. Let me be able to do it without drugs and if I need drugs, let them work and let everything go smoothly. Let the baby be healthy and perfect. Don't let me tear. Let me know what to do and how to do it.
   My hospital bag sits discretely on the floor, waiting, out of sight at the end of the dining room table. I pretend it's not there.
   I have forgotten a lot of things I think, about being pregnant the first time. I remember being surprised at how much work it was physically. And how uninvolved I felt. Like something had taken over my body and I was just along for the ride. I remember being so tired and so nauseous. How I struggled to walk up the stairs at the end and get in and out of bed. How the last weeks were the hardest. But I walked every day and I exercised. I think I felt much better last time than this time. I was told by  my Dr. this time, that second pregnancies are much more uncomfortable because everything has already been stretched out. There is not a gradual letting go and holding you together. It just goes. And maybe being six years older and being 40 years old, has not made it easier. Since week 5 of this pregnancy, I have been in some sort of pain. The pain has changed and moved around but I have been consistently uncomfortable and struggling the whole time. At five weeks my back went wonky, my hips opening, my ligaments stretching. I could not get out of bed without tears and stretching so that I could walk, or limp. That lasted for months. Then varicose veins down the back of one leg that would throb and ache, swollen like bruised, puffy blue maps of rivers. I was so itchy, it would keep me up at night. Nausea, ocular migraines, constipation, hemorrhoids, hormones, numb fingers, restless leg syndrome, sore and swollen feet, stretching belly, out of breath, exhaustion. But I never threw up and I was not put on bed rest, so it could have been worse. Still, I am so glad I am coming close to the end and long for some ease of movement again. To have my body return to a comfortable state.
   As little as I remember of my first pregnancy, I do remember the birth. I was shocked at how painful it was. I knew it would be painful, but I watched so many birthing videos of really mellow, gentle births. I thought if I expected and feared pain, it would be very painful. So I was not afraid, not really. Mostly curious. I had taken hypno-birthing classes and I had planned a home birth with a midwife and a dula. We rented a birthing tub and I thought maybe I could have a water birth.
   I went into labor three days after my due date with Desmond. At 11:00 at night, I felt like I had period cramps and they got worse. By 1:00 I think I told my husband to call the dula. "But it's the middle of the night," he said. "Yes, I know," I told him. He called and she came. When she got there I thought she would have some magic instructions on how to alleviate the pain but she did not. She said something along the lines of, "This is labor." And I went inside and did not come out until Desmond was born. I think at some point she said, "Just ride out the contractions one by one." And I began to imagine myself stepping into a row boat when a contraction came. I could feel the metal boat and the wooden oars, I felt the sand of the shore under the boat as I pushed off into the water and I would row across a little river and as the contraction subsided, I could feel the sand of the opposite shore rubbing against the bottom of the boat and I would step out of the boat and pull it out of the water and wait for the next contraction when I would step back into the boat and row. I think I spent all of my labor rowing this boat in my mind. Until it was time to push. Then I spent two and a half hours thinking, "You've got to be fucking kidding me." Or something along those lines. I felt like I was pushing as hard as I could without opting for death. My midwife told me if I wanted the baby to come out, I was going to have to push harder. I trusted she knew what she was talking about so even though I thought it was probably suicide, I pushed harder. I pushed so hard that I felt like I was pushing a gas pedal to the floor of a car. My body would push the  pedal down as far as it would go and then the car would take over and push the pedal further still with a great rush of engine, a force that was beyond me. And he came out. And when he came out, I felt relief. I felt traumatized, amazed, indignant, and generally floored. I didn't have that moment that you imagine, because you've seen it in every TV show or movie that portrays a birth, of tearful overwhelming joy, holding your baby for the first time. I was happy to see him, I was curious to see what he looked like and glad he was okay. But I think I was in shock. 11 hours through the night. 2 1/2 hours of pushing. And here was a baby. And the agony was over. And I wanted a salami sandwich and a vanilla milk shake.
   I would not change that experience. I believe in home births and was glad I had one. Glad I went through it and learned what I was capable of. But, I don't necessarily want to do that again.
   This time, I have planned to be in a hospital across the river that has a birthing center. The birthing center has drugs and it has a tub and midwives. It seems to be a happy middle ground between a home birth and hospital birth. I don't know what will happen when I get there. I am curious again. I am hoping for the best. The best involving both speed and ease. I am open to the epidural or intrathecal. I know I don't want pitocin or narcotics. I might get in the tub, I might not. I did get in the tub when I had Desmond but got out because I thought there must be a less painful way. There wasn't. I don't know that it is worth getting wet and then dry.
   I will be glad to be in a hospital because I will be taken care of and Desmond will be taken care of at home. And when the coast is clear, he will come meet his little brother and I can hold both of my boys together.
   I think this time, no matter what happens, I will cry happy tears when this boy is born. Because now I know. I know what it means to be a mother. Because I know how much I will love him, I love him already. I will know to be proud of his birthing journey and to congratulate him and welcome him and tell him how well he did and tell him where he is.
   When I was pregnant with Desmond, I didn't know who he was. I had not been a mother before. I did not know anything about boys. I did not know how to feel attached to him before I got to know him. It did not take long for me to fall in love with him and my love for him outgrew every other love I had ever felt as he grew. I am wildly in love with him today. I just marvel over him all the time. He is so beautiful and funny and I know him so well. He is a good soul. I am crazy about him. I wanted more of him and I wanted more for him, so here I am, 38 weeks pregnant. Another little boy to meet. A brother for Desmond. And Desmond will get to be a brother to this little boy. And I will have boys. Two boys. I did not see that coming. But, man do I feel lucky.