A Watched Pot...

Jeff sent out an evite on Monday night inviting some of our friends to come to an End of Our Independence Bar-B-Que for tonight. Eye brows were raised when we planned a party inviting about 40 people over for dinner 72 hours before our first-born daughter is due. But if you know my husband, then you know that throwing together a Bar-B-Que this close to delivering a baby is really nothing. Mostly, I think Jeff and I are tired of looking at each other every night and deciding whether to watch the Food Network or the Home & Garden Network. I adore my husband and love spending time with him, but one more night of Iron Chef or Ace of Cakes and I think I was going to get on a trampoline and try to get the baby to bounce right on out.

And, to tell you the truth, after a morning taking an infant CPR class at the hospital and an afternoon napping for two-and-a-half hours and dreaming about perilous situations that little babies can get in, I was thinking this little soiree was one of our worst ideas ever. Nothing sounded better than settling in for a night of Property Virgins and Rate My Space. But, then beloved friends started to fill out house and I remembered how great it is to have people in our home and how sublime it is when Jeff grills eggplants and peppers to a charry perfection.

Since it is the height of summer and many people are out of town or at weddings or at some street festival, our crowd was an eclectic mix of neighbors, old friends, new friends, graduate school friends and law school friends. It felt so good to look around the table and see our neighbor talking to one of our old friends making connections that wouldn't have been possible if I was in my Gap lounge wear surfing the television for a great summer re-run or one of the 50 different Tom Hanks/Meg Ryan movies. I feel lucky that we have lots of people who know us and will be rooting for us as the birth of Peppermint commences. I slyly mentioned our CPR classes and hinted strongly that anyone who wants to babysit my daughter will have to become CPR certified. If I have to go to class and hear the scary stories, then so do my babysitters.

Tomorrow is the last of our classes. We are going to a class called Care For Newborns. I am excited. I think the class covers lots of basics like diaper rash, swaddling, sleeping, and cooing. I am looking forward to heavy dose of practical reality. My sister also called and gave me a list of things to pack for the hospital, which is a good thing because I didn't pack of any of the following:

1. Maxi pads in case my water breaks on the way to the hospital. I try not to think about this possibility , but now that she mentioned it, it's too late to not know.

2. Plain chapstick that comes in the black tube-- the old school chapstick. I told her I already packed my tinted Burt's Bees lipglossy-chapstick, but she said that I needed the old school chapstick for my breasts. I didn't ask any questions, but upon further reflection, I should follow up for her because I can't conjure up the scenario where I am going to need chapstick for my nipples.

3. Stool softener. Apparently, the prospect of returning to normal bodily functions after having your offspring slide out from your belly is as frightful as any other part of the birth process. New mothers have been quick and candid about how torturous that first post-baby movement can be. So, now having heard this from my sage younger sister, I am finally willing to peruse the colace aisle so I can take care of business without calling the suicide hotline.

4. CHOCOLATE. And, that's why I love my sister and am thrilled she'll be the godmother of our daughter. Sure, I will need that other stuff, but when the chocolate craving kicks in, we'll know it's part of my genetic make up and that I should embrace it as I do my propensity to use the plural "ya'll" to refer to a group of people in the second person plural or my tendency to stand about 5 feet 5 inches tall. It's hardwired. And that's why I have already packed some chocolate bars in the hospital bag. If I work the chocolate right, then maybe I won't need any stool softeners. A girl can dream.

That's the report from July 11, 2009. The baby is moving around as we speak. I have been telling her how terrific oxygen is and how much fun her newly installed car seat will be to ride around it. I'm playing up how great life outside the womb is so she will know that her life's greatest highlights are yet to come.

So are mine.