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37 Weeks

"Has he dropped? He looks like he's dropped?"

"Are you tired? You look tired."

"Are you swelling? You're hands look swollen."

"How's the house? Did you get the house?"

I'm starting to feel a little guilty that these are my favorite conversation starters. I haven't slept because my hands are now dead fish stuck to my elbows. I'm uncertain if the little one has really "dropped" because at this point, gravity makes my earlobes feel heavy. The house... well... that is happening. We close in two days and everything I understand about a closing is that, much like a beheading, it is a monumental moment in time where a group of strangers gather around to watch the protagonist and antagonist hold their breath until that moment is complete. The moment being many signatures on many pieces of paper. Lots of milestones that feel as large as my thighs, but all life-events that billions of people have experienced. It's like a first kiss. Which, technically, is the catalyst that lead up to this point in Jennifer and Greg Skura's Shared Life.

During my pregnancy, I've been in touch with several pregnant women—friends old and new. We've enjoyed comparing notes about our journeys and three of them have recently given birth. Of course, their lives are now consumed by their recent, amazing lot. I'm thrilled for them and fantasize about how many diapers they've gone through at certain times of the day. It is strange not to talk to them. Dead air out there. If they continued chatting with me I'd be disturbed, but it's funny how slightly lost I feel now that they've reached THE goal and I haven't—waiting my turn to jump off the same airplane. No one can do it for you. I wish I could follow next to them and conduct an interview on the way down—goggles squeezed over my eyes, forceful wind flapping my cheeks, pad and pen in hand,  "WHEN DID YOUR WATER BREAK? HOW LONG WAS THE CROWNING? HOW QUICKLY DID THE PLACENTA COME OUT? WHAT WAS THE FIRST FEEDING LIKE? WERE YOU SCARED? ARE YOU SCARED? DID YOU CHECK YOUR PARACHUTE FOR HOLES BEFORE YOOOOOOUUUUU JUUUUUUUUMPED?????"

Greg often works out of town and like me, is planning to work as much as he can until the first contraction. Purposely, all of his gigs this month are only a two hour commute away in New York City. It's close enough that he can stop, drop, and roll if I call in need and it's also far enough away that he's living with a daily concern that he'll miss something. Not easy being the partner. I'm the one who's guaranteed to be here when things happen. 

"Hello?"

"Congratulations honey!!!!!"

"Hello? Je... Jennifer? Why... WHY ARE YOU SAYING THAT?!!"

Yesterday, we received an email saying the house closing was set. I called Greg in the middle of his work day to share in our excitement and telephonically celebrate all of the effort it took to get there. I have to remember to be more specific when he answers my calls these days. Poor guy. I almost heard him make a silhouetted cartoon dash through the wall of a skyscraper. We should get him a parachute too.