It’s a long weekend in Chile and my husband and I came to visit his family. I’m still getting over my cold and I’m not sure if it’s normal pregnancy stuff or anemia related, but I’ve been feeling sleepier than usual. At any rate, I’ve been in bed all morning watching TV.
Most of the TV shows from the States are at least a couple of seasons old and sometimes it’s hard to find a good one that hasn’t been dubbed. Side note: nothing bugs me more than dubbing, especially if you can still hear the English track lightly in the background. Annoying!
This morning we were watching the Friends episode where Monica throws Rachel a baby shower and as she begins to open the presents she realizes that she has absolutely no idea what to do with the baby once it arrives, mostly because she is clueless as to what the items are. Of course, my husband says he’s fine (hence, we are fine) because he is the oldest of many brothers, sisters and cousins, so he knows all about testing the bath water with your elbow, burping the baby, and everything else in between, or so he claims.
I don’t! Why the elbow? What if I used my big toe? WHAT COULD HAPPEN?! Oh. God. I have no idea what to do with the baby once she arrives. I’ve been keeping up with my baby book and baby app and I’ve been watching her transform from a sweet potato-sized wiggler to a plump mango, but I never thought of reading ahead or investing in a real baby BABY book. That would have required planning and I’ve been sort of winging this.
Someday my daughter is going to be sitting on a lounge chair saying that to her therapist, “See, I wouldn’t be here, but my mom sort of winged it through my childhood.” GAH!
I feel like Rachel when she tries to sell Ross the idea that her mom is going to move in with them for eight weeks to help her care for the baby.
My only question is, why ONLY eight weeks!?! Can it be, like, eight years?
What have I gotten myself into, people?