I spy with my little eye, hideous paisley, teddy bear art and an ice machine. Where am I you may wonder? The Maternity Ward.
That's right folks, baby Born (not to be mistaken with Baby Born) is en route. This is the perfect time for me to consolidate my knowledge of shipping terms with my loathing of medical terms. Rather than use words like "epidural" and "dialated" I can just say "gassed up" and "ETA for delivery".
My family mocks my abhorrence of hospitals and birthing terms, but I'm hopeless....simply hopeless. I've done more deep breathing than my sister today to avoid vomiting while they discuss my sisters status. They invented waiting rooms for people like me.
It feels a bit like being at a zoo. Looking at all of the pregnant people walking around. I'm sure I would be chased down, beat with breast pumps and choked with size 0 diapers if any one of these women knew I said that. I don't mean they look like animals, but I just can't help staring. It's more comparable to a reptile house "look don't touch" sorta thing than a petting zoo.
Basically, if you're pregnant and reading this, I'm sorry. I'm not making fun of you, I'm making fun of myself. It's my coping mechanism to not lose my **** sitting in a hospital.
I really am stoked though about the little Broseph. He's already so loved, I'm sure once he's in his tiny baby clothes looking all snuggly and warm, I will be changing my tune. But right now I'm singing the songs of the squeamish.
Once Kade is here, I'll share pictures with y'all. But for now I'm going to attempt to take my mind off what's going on behind these antiseptic khaki walls.
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