Husband Anxieties, Part One or Happy New Year

My sister came over for the New Year. Ostensibly she flew over from Germany to visit my mom, but I guess she was not too psyched about the prospects of spending her New Year with future grandparents, and she probably expressed some thought along these lines to mom. So mom called me up and strongly suggested that I invite her along with me. “But she won’t like it,” I said. My mom continued to insist, and I didn’t know how to get out of it.

She put my sister on the phone. She was looking up places to go for the New Year celebration. Using my parents’ ultra-slow dial up she found some sort of San Francisco New Year Gala Extravaganza. I put an end to it right away. “I can’t dance anymore, I get tiered early, I have to rest”. But really, could you picture me going for some cheesy overpriced ammature partier night a year ago?

She asked me what I’m doing, and I said that there is a party. She asked me about it, and I didn’t want to sound like I’m talking her out of it, so I failed to talk her out of it. My husband didn’t like the idea. “What you are going to bring your sister over to hang out with stupid stoners getting drunk?” I explained the situation, and he called the hosts requesting that people in attendance behave.

He hung up and said that it should be mellow, and that there is even going to be a baby at the party. I knew whose the baby was, and I spent much time comparing pregnancy experiences with the mother. She had much to share, including the fact that she did some fancy ultrasound imaging for $200thatyeilded 45 minutes of footage of her baby swimming around in her uterus. Perhaps we should do that. But if we do it for one baby, we really need to make sure that we do it for all the following babies as well.

She also said that her husband was in attendance when she was giving birth, and later confessed that he almost threw up. So they don’t know what they are going to do the next time around. Well, this only reinforced my decision that I don’t want my husband anywhere near me when baby’s hairy head pops out. And lets not even get into delivery of placenta. You see, although I am the mother of his child, I still want him to think of me as a woman.

I know he will love the baby whether or not he sees it being born. He already does. And I don’t want him to have this picture of me passing the grossest bloody mess imaginable stuck forever in his memory. It won’t improve our intimacy, and I’mglas that today some come to realize that some sort of mystery must lie between lovers for passion to sustain itself. Lovers don’t need to know everything about each other, gross detail notwithstanding.

So we’ll do the childbirth the old-fashioned way. My husband will take me to the hospital and disappear to a neighborhood bar. My mom will stay with me; she’s done it before, she knows.

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January 2, 2007. Breedosaurus.

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