The cleaning routine today: me on dishes, Drew on laundry folding, Radiolab on speakers. It was the short on pain, on quantifying it, which of course leads inevitably to child birth. Cut to the montage of women trying to describe it. The pain. Drew and I looking at each other like this:

Mind you, right now, I’m hoping against hope that, um, yeah. Well, you know, this being the year the he gets ready for the nine months of getting ready. And I detox from ten years of hormone regulation (is it really possible that I’ve been on the stuff since I was 16?) and we don’t even think about it. Well, of course, I’m thinking about it. Hoping the sugar room exists, and that sloppiness will have its consequences.

The night we got married, staying up late in the hotel, we saw this documentary on natural child birth. There was one woman (with 3 little buggers) who described birth as totally painless, as long as you open your body to it and just let your little one slip out as nature intended. And I KNOW, there are millions of women in the world who would take issue with that description, and yes, I just heard several dozen of them describe in excruciating detail just how flawed that description is. But I’m telling you, they showed video of the birth, and she was calm and even voiced, and the child just… slipped right out. Into the pool. It was really beautiful.

I guess I’m just hoping for that. Not expecting, but hoping.