The imminent arrival...

So this weekend Jess started having some seriously strong contractions.  I looked up what she was experiencing in that essential pregnancy guide, "All the Things You Should Freak Out About When Pregnant," and all signs seemed to point to actual labor rather than pre-term labor.  The contractions weren't regular, but that was the only missing piece.  We called the OB/GYN on call and he told us to come in to the hospital immediately.

So we calmly got dressed and got ready to go to the hospital. I said, "it's okay if the baby comes now. We have the crib and the co-sleeper and the pack 'n' play and the carseat and bottles and clothes and everything -- and my god, the house is so messy," and started to cry.  Then we got in the car, and it had a bunch of trash in it, and I actually hyperventilated a little.  I think that's a good taste of what having a baby will be like -- everything that's been good enough for me and Jess will not be good enough for our child.

These feelings are like messages from another planet.  I wasn't even aware that I was freaked out until I started hyperventilating, and then the panic threatened to swallow me. I didn't even think about the house being messy until it was in the context of imminent baby arrival, and then I just wanted to collapse on the floor.  That's a really scary amount of love to feel for someone I haven't even met yet.

Thankfully, the contractions were just a bump in the road, and they're under control now.  Still, we are probably looking at having a newborn before Christmas.  All the time in the world wouldn't be enough to get ready for my child, but I still can't wait to meet the kid.

Here's hoping we'll be good parents. I know that's a moving target, being a good parent -- it's easy to not be an evil parent (don't hit the kid, provide for the kid's needs, show love and provide boundaries), but being a good parent? That's tricky. All we can do is the best we can.  

The only solace is knowing that every parent will fail in some regard, and will be blamed by the kid for some grown-up neuroses. Because let's face it -- we're all neurotic. I've met people of every conceivable background, from super-conservative to crazy-permissive, and we're all screwed up in our own special way, and on some level we all blame our parents.  

What's also heartening is for all those people I know (and myself included) who are screwed up and blame their parents, we all love our parents deeply and know, deep down, that they're not the reason we're screwed up.  They, like us, like everyone, were screwed up to begin with, and they did the best they could.

My highest goal is to combine all the wonderful things my parents did right, and all the things Jess's parents did right, and maybe we'll end up with a neuroses-free child.  Or, at least, we'll give the child an open space to screw him or herself up in new, interesting ways, for which they will blame us.  And then they'll stare down the barrel of an imminent baby arrival, and they'll realize that we did a pretty good job, after all.