A Message from Your Uncle Malik

Dear Joshua,

If you're not planning to be born by Monday, don't bother.

No baby.

Well, my due date came and went with nary a word from my procrastinator baby.


I am going to be pregnant for the next 15 years. That's what it feels like. Gah.

5 Days To Go

Five! Well, he's going to be late. He's going to be at least 10 days late, so I guess I actually have about 15 days to go. I need to find a way to enjoy this last bit of time.

I used to be on Livejournal, and I had one of those baby ticker things on my front page. I would see it every time I logged in and it would make me a little bit excited to see the baby moving across the line towards the end. I feel sad that I don't have it anymore. Actually, I feel sad that LJ was so thoroughly ruined for me. Words are unbelievably powerful weapons.

The thing that has tripped me out the most so far in this adventure has been seeing the crib in my room. It's all set up and it's beautiful and every time I walk by my bedroom door, I see it and catch my breath. Do you want to know something dumb, though? I am so afraid he's going to die, I can't bring myself to buy a mattress for it yet. I know, I know. I'm being ridiculous, and I need to learn how to get my superstition under control, but I just feel afraid. I feel like everything I love is taken away, and as soon as the universe finds out that I am desperate to hold on to something, it disappears. It's almost as though I need to learn the lesson again and again, not to get attached to anything -- not that I'm some kind of masochist, but because attachment to anything impermanent is ultimately disappointing.

Anyway, there's my thing. I keep looking for signs that I need to prepare for a stillbirth (and thus, everyone reading is reassured that I am, in fact, completely nuts) like the brochure I found yesterday for a baby bereavement support group. It was next to a pamphlet on custody and access rights for parents embroiled in battles with each other over their children, but could I see that as a sign? Noooooooooooo. Instead, I have to assume that I'm getting a warning about impending baby death. Man, it's hard to be sane.

And no, before anyone assumes anything, it's not because I've been scared into believing that the only safe way to have a child is in the hospital. I don't imagine even doctors have that kind of control over life and death, and any sense that they do is the result of glorified self-importance. I'm scared because I fear Josh will die simply because I love him so much already. I'm scared that I don't deserve to keep him. I'm scared that this is all about "teaching me a lesson".

Man, I'm just scared.

Hi. Hard to start over. I feel a bit over-protective. I hope it's okay to be honest about my stuff without backlash. That was some cold, cold shit. (If you don't know what I'm talking about, it's okay. I'd rather forget it, too.)

So, my baby is due next weekend. Isn't that a trip? My midwives have everything at my place ready to go (including, thank goodness, the chants, crystals and goat's blood in case there's an emergency). I'm being sarcastic, of course. Why do I let myself get sucked into this bullshit?

I'm trying to picture what it will be like to be a mother. I honestly can't. I think it will be okay, but I feel like I'm stepping into a dark forest and I'll have to forge a path as I go. One thing is for sure, I am eager to be done with pregnancy. I am so heavy and painfully swollen and I feel like a walrus trying to get around on land. My midwife tells me to keep exercising. It's unfortunate that I had to kill her.