Who Let the Dogs Out?

28 Weeks

"Mom. Mom. Mo— Mom, mom, mom, mo— MOM!"

"What?"

"I'm not done with it yet. I'll let you know when I am and you can look it over."

"You've got to finish it soon."

"I know. I will... am."

"The invitations have gone out, you know. And honey, I looked at it today and you didn't even pick out a swing or a bouncy seat or a schmlacka-do-diddly-schlooka. Everyone needs at least four of those. Plus, don't forget the schmoolidly-schlooky-loo and schmloka-moo-moo-oopah-neegla. Those are very important."

"They are?"

"Trust me. You'll need one!"

I sit at my desk at work and my office-mate steps out to go to lunch. I take the opportunity to call the doctor's office to set up yet another appointment. I'm an old mom. They need to see me often. The operator answers and I realize I've reached the switchboard for the entire practice. I tell her I need to be transferred to... "to... awbeh... ohwbsteh... ohwbsterrr-ehhkkee-hhee-TRICKS." She pauses to decipher. Tells me to hold on. I wanted to shout, "Wait! I've never said that word out loud before! I'm not an idiot. Really. I can read and stuff. And I know I'm 41, 6 months pregnant, and should know by now how to pronounce things like that, but— I'm not going to be a horrible mother! I won't. I promise! I'll do better! I'LL DO BETTER!" I sit with the muzak in my ear and wonder what in the world just happened to me. In a flash, my mind was stolen and replaced with one from a talking dog. I remind myself to read more. 

"I don't know."

"Well... what colors then? If you don't have a theme, what do I tell people your colors are?"

"I... I... don't know."

"Ok, sweetie. Why don't you look at those places I told you about online and let me know what set you like. Your father and I want to get the bedding for him. Just pick something out. You've got to do it soon."

Months ago, Greg and I went for a walk in our neighborhood. I was about 12 weeks pregnant and we were still very new to the idea. On our way up the street, we run into our neighbors. The Perfects. They have a fantastic country home partially constructed by their own hands. Two adorable boys that they rule idyllically. They chop their own wood. They keep chickens for fresh eggs. Since we moved to 'the country', this family has been our ideal. Before they settled down, they both traveled the world and now they have created a happy, modest, beautiful home. All while managing to be good looking, Fonzie cool, and stylish. Greg and I haven't shared our news yet with many, but this time we can't help ourselves for the pride: "We're pregnant!" The Perfects gush appropriately and tell us about their home births and give out advice. We listen with Talking Dog Brain as the wave of information and questions crash against our foreheads. "Are you getting a doula?" I blink a few times and our neighbor repeats himself. He's from New Zealand. I think perhaps I don't understand his accent then realize it's been quiet for far too long and respond, "I... I... don't know... what you're saying..." They explain. I tell myself it's time to pick up some birthing books.

"Honey. You've got cheap diapers listed here."

"Someone told me they're the best."

"What about a breast pump?"

"Mom. I'm not done. I know I should be but I'm just not. I'll finish soon. I promise."

"Jim and Kathy want to get you the changing table and it says here it isn't available online. You need to pick out another one."

"Who are Jim and Kath..."

"And you're going to need a schmoolky-doodle-doo."

"All right. How do you spell that?"

I, just now, as of yesterday, finally finished doing that thing that modern American woman MUST do before giving birth: set up the baby registry. This not only allows you to make a list of things for generous people to buy for your new child, it also gives you an opportunity to hold up a mirror to what is lacking in your mothering soul. You know, showing you just how ignorant you really are about this new world into which you are about to step. I think once you've completed the registry they should mail you a t-shirt from Consumer Affairs that says right across the belly, "I'm with Stupid."

How do you pack for a surprise trip? If I show up in Alaska with my flip-flops and a bikini, well, I'll need a little help from my mothers and friends who are mothers. I'll depend on them to advise, guide, push, and hopefully remind me where I packed my sense of humor. Setting up this registry was a giant slap in the jaw. There is a baby coming. And he'll need stuff. And you might kill him if you bring flip flops. It took me two hours to pick out a mobile. What if the music scares him? If the lights are out, will he even see it move? Which mobile will make him smart, healthy, and protect him from the evils of the world? The devil in the details takes over when you are shopping for something you've never thought about. Ever.

Nursery theme? Right. His room needs furniture and it should probably reflect a sense of our family style. Is thrift-store a good aesthetic? I chose simple: Black and White. Even talking dogs see in black and white.