By Cherimie Weatherford
In life, many events come with ample warning, cautionary pre-cursors, even alerts of the siren kind while others occur seemingly with no predecessor signaling the need for preparation. Hurricanes, elections, family visits and most floods come with some form of notice. Since childhood I have been an odd type of planner, not necessarily the most productive; however, I hear the sirens, see the warning and take notice of particular actions that will lessen shock, pain and any foreseeable discomfort. It isn’t likely that others will gather amass in my abode should zombies attack or doomsday appear, however, I will have batteries and a good flashlight. I am a basics girl.
Attempting to avoid harping too terribly much on my impending labor, I can’t help but notice some similarities among events needing warning and preparation. According to the good doctors, the standard timetable of gestation and the present size of my once tiny feet, I am under severe baby watch.
Pacing the halls, watching Mother Nature send her foreboding flares and sorting through the inevitable scenarios offers little consolation to facing an event of such magnitude. Cowardly, overly cautious or even armed with common sense were never used to describe me or most of my actions; yet, I am one to avoid bodily harm to the best of my ability. If it is hot, I try not to touch it. If it is sharp, I do my darnedest to keep it away from my eyes. If it bites, sometimes I shoot it. It is this simple philosophy of self-preservation that has led me to retain all limbs and most viable senses.
Thanks to Google and females with freely flowing advice, escaping the reality of delivery or even approaching such an event with optimism is not only unlikely but downright impossible. Ironically, those who have chosen to give birth multiple times are owners of the most horrific tales. Maybe I am a few rockers off the porch, but I find that odd. Either way, this is heading my direction at impressive speed. The hatches are battened, sustenance stored and copious amounts of tiny socks await the arrival of this certain life change.
Our baby girl is coming. With a 50/50 chance of inheriting her mother’s traits, she will come barreling in with gale force. Emotions are high, expectations abound and anxiety settles in as hormones breech the dam of reason. Let the sirens sound, the winds blow and the forces of nature combine — as much as any new Mom can be, I am ready. I have batteries, my good flashlight and plenty of tiny socks. Wish us luck y’all, Mary Eleanor’s arrival is imminent.
Editor’s Note: Congratulations to Cherimie and her family on the arrival of their new baby girl!
