As you already know- and is apparent from today’s ultrasound photo which is, unfortunately, not a birth announcement- I’m still in your belly. Oops!
I realize that I’ve given you a lot of signs over the last couple weeks that I would be coming out- really sorry if those bouts of 10 hours of contractions and a week at four centimetres dilated left you with the wrong impression. It’s kind of like when your alarm goes off in the morning and you have every intention of getting up but it’s just super cozy so you hit snooze, then you hit snooze again….well, hitting snooze on this whole labour thing is kind of my jam right now.
I’ll admit that your sets of stairs and hiking this weekend almost had me…but then those other two little people who live in my house were fighting over my future toys and I was like, “Save the drama. I’m staying in here”.
Anyway, I know you’re a little #overit with my fetal occupancy, so I’m willing to come out if you’re willing to accept certain conditions of my exit.
You could keep going with drinking your special teas and tinctures and putting Evening Primrose Oil into your body in a variety of ways, but we both know, as with most things to do with being a parent, only one of us has any power in this situation (psst- it’s not you).
Is it clear yet that this is not a negotiation?
Here are my demands:
- First, those loud other little people in my house are not going to cast me in any of their Broadway musical revivals. I know that older ginger one has her eye on me as Daddy Warbucks because she thinks I’m going to be born bald but I’M NOT GOING TO DO IT. The sun will not come out tomorrow for this baby.
- Second, on my first birthday, that younger curly haired one must transfer full possession and title to the train table (including all trains and accessories) to me. She can keep the one called “Emily” but I reserve the right to chew on it at my sole discretion. If either of those other two build a track, I will destroy it. Probably for no reason.
- Finally, you are not going to name me Hugo. I’m with Dad on this one. I I know you think it’s cute but I question whether you’ve really thought it through. Use this extra time I’ve given you and get back on Nameberry.com because Hugo is NEVER GOING TO HAPPEN.
Easy, right? I’ll have my people send you the papers and we can put this whole “when is he coming” thing to rest.
Not Baby Hugo
P.S. Don’t make me force the castor oil. It won’t be pretty.