Gestational logorrhea, 37.5 weeks

Oh, hello. Yes, I am still pregnant. Yes, I am late with this week's installment of navel-gazing. I've got an excuse, and it's spelled M-O-M.

My mother cleared her normally-busy schedule to come up to visit from Monday to Saturday this week. During this time, I was supposed to relax and revel in meals cooked by her, and let her take care of Jonah in the afternoons so I could rest. She got here Monday afternoon; I think I managed to take a nap then. Monday evening we had leftovers since she'd just gotten to town and we didn't feel we could put her to work so soon. Tuesday afternoon, we took Jonah to the library after school, and he fell asleep on the way home so we made a second visit to the cafe we'd been to in the morning.

Wednesday afternoon, we went to same cafe after school, Jonah had a cookie, and then I left them to stroll around the neighborhood and visit the pet food store to say hi to the cats. On the way home, Jonah and my mom were playing hide and seek, and she stumbled on uneven pavement. I'd just taken my contact lenses out to get ready for a nap when I heard them come in and Josh say that she'd fallen down.

My mom doesn't know how to "just" fall down. Seven years ago we were traveling together in Italy. She tripped on a doormat in Padova, hurt her ankle, and by the time she came home it was a partially torn Achilles tendon. She was in a cast at our wedding, and couldn't dance.

This time, she was bleeding heavily from both hands and knees. I hauled out our first aid supplies and spent about 40 minutes cleaning her up. Then her right hand started swelling. My in-laws were due to come for dinner, so I had to make it while Josh (who was home, luckily) took Jonah to his occupational therapy session. After I'd finished prepping dinner, we went out to find a cab to take us to the ER. Hailing a cab on the street anywhere but Manhattan is a very challenging prospect, even when you aren't almost 9 months pregnant and look as though you might be thinking of delivering in a taxi. We finally found a cab, got to the ER, and once my mom had gone through triage I ducked out, since I had no idea what type of germs I might get exposed to in the waiting room. I walked home, too stubborn to try to get a cab, and half-blind because I'd never put my contacts back in. I started getting shooting pains in my pelvis after walking for ten minutes (about halfway back home).

Turned out she'd broken a bone in her hand, and it may require surgery. She came back with her arm in a cast and a sling and many bandages on her other wounds. So, Weds through Saturday were spent caring for her cuts and scrapes, helping her dress, and soothing her bruised ego. I somehow managed to get through this without offending her, even though I was so resentful to have to deal with this setback, at this particular moment.

I decided in a more lucid moment that the universe was trying to teach me a lesson, that I need to re-learn how to care for someone who is truly helpless. Not a moment too soon for that lesson, I reckon. I need to really embrace that this is what happened, though, and stop feeling bitter about the week that was. In time, I guess. Now, I am starting to realize that my mom's injury is going to keep her from helping out once the baby is here, and keep her from holding the baby as I know she'll want to, and I'm just getting sad about it all. Aside from the fact that she probably won't be able to drive or cook for a while, two things that are central to her lifestyle. What lesson exactly is she supposed to take from this?

On the baby front, things are still chugging along. This week was the first appointment where I was hooked up to the fetal heart rate monitor for a longer period of time, and the resulting tracing was very reassuring. What is not reassuring is the fact that we have done so little to prepare, we have no idea when to expect this baby, and uh, have I mentioned the lack of preparations? I'm trying to think of napping and eating as the most important things I could be doing right now.