Hiccups, childbirth, and gold medals

The wee human inside my body currently has the hiccups. This is new. It started a couple days ago. I felt a tap, tap, tap in my lower abdomen, almost like he was knocking on a wall in there. I thought the kid had super good rhythm. But then after scouring the internet (LIKE I DO) (PROBABLY SHOULDN'T) (THE INTERNET IS DARK AND FULL OF TERROR), I discovered it's most likely hiccups. 

BABY HICCUPS.

It's about time. He's been giving me hiccups since THE BEGINNING. You're welcome, baby. I have returned the favor. Have a blessed day.

Also, because I'm feeling them low and below my belly button, chances are he's likely head down right now like an obedient little person. That said, he's still performing rhythmic gymnastics on the regular, so I assume he'll be upside down and inside out and backwards come delivery day. 

SPEAKING of delivery day, I continue to learn things. 

In week two of childbirth class, we learned all about the four phases of labor. We watched snippets of video. We watched the CliffsNotes version of someone's actual birth, and I was appropriately horrified and in awe. 

YOU GUYS I CAN TOTALLY DO THAT. 

But first, an aside: 

One of the young mothers in a video had her husband and dad as birth partners. Her dad. As in, father. Her dad. Like, listen, I love my dad. Daddy's Girl, etc. He probably knows much more about my personal life than a dad should because I tell my mom everything and she tells him everything, but, like, I try to respect that sacred father-daughter relationship. One time in college he had to pick up my birth control from the pharmacy after work, and that was, like, as far over the line that we've ever crossed into "sorry, dad, I am a woman, oh god shhhhh, just forget that part" territory.

And once my bikini top went completely wayward at a water park and my whole grown boob came out before us all. 

BUT LOOK. We don't talk about these things. We "ha ha" laugh and we move on because dads shouldn't see grown daughter boobs, okay? 

I AM PERPETUALLY 8 YEARS OLD.

SACRED GROUND. Shhhhhhhhhh.

So, needless to say, my dad whom I love more than many things in life, will very much not be in the delivery room to see all my wide open spaces and parts and childbirth debauchery. I mean, Todd is lucky he gets a pass, okay? But he is mostly responsible for this, so it is only fair that he has to witness the reckoning. 

Okay, so anyway, Delivery Room Dad just gave me pause. No?

Moving on...

So, back to actual childbirth. I don't feel super terrified. It looks mega uncomfortable and painful, but I didn't walk away from class the other night with a head full of nope. Sure, I could have done without the stranger birthing crotch shot (I mean, couldn't we all?) (also Stranger Birthing Crotch Shot is the name of my debut novel), but I feel okay.

I even went as far as to walk away and talk to Todd about how maaaaaaybe -- just maybe -- I could do this naturally. Without an epidural. 

NOW BEFORE YOU GUYS LOSE YOUR SHIT (mom), shhhhh. This is not my actual decision. Also, childbirth planning decisions, I'm learning, are worthless because ANYTHING CAN HAPPEN. 

But for some time, I've realized I'm not scared of childbirth and I'm not scared of the pain. My body's strong and has endured a lot. I'm sure about four minutes into the real pain, I'll be screaming for drugs, but mostly, right now, I'm proud of the confidence I have in my body to do this damn thing. 

If I somehow miraculously made it through the whole thing on my own, I'd wear it like a badge of courage. And if I beg for an epidural after 37 seconds, I'll wear my BABY like a badge of courage.

Either way, this thing is happening and it's bad ass. It's suddenly starting to feel more like a race that I'm preparing for. And like a friend noted the other day, a baby is for sure the coolest medal.

Though, some of my race medals are pretty sweet...

JUST KIDDING.

No, but really, they are. I love medals.

Only I probably won't hang this medal on the wall. 

For sure. FOR SURE I won't hang him on the wall. 

Babies are fine medals, too. Plus this medal snuggles. I'll probably give him a medal when he's born to commemorate his gold medal performance in rhythmic gymnastics. We'll hang it above his crib. WHICH ARRIVES TODAY. 

Baby has a crib. Baby has a room. Baby has hiccups. Baby will be here in two months. 

OH SNAP. 

Baby's first medal was the 2017 Boston Marathon medal because baby is an overachieving badass. 

Baby's first medal was the 2017 Boston Marathon medal because baby is an overachieving badass.