The Perfect Formula
Four weeks ago, the baby dropped and got into position. Everyone said, “It won’t be long now.” Maybe Christmas, maybe New Years, what a tax break! This was followed by two weeks of strong, timable contractions. They would last five hours and then stop.
A week ago, I lost my mucus plug. (I know some people don’t like to hear about these things, But when you’re pregnant, or maybe when you’re me, there’s nothing to hide). My mid-wife said, “Anytime now, I’m sure I”ll be seeing you before your next appointment.” My appointments are every week.
Yesterday my breasts started lactating. From what I’ve read, all of these things indicate that I should be in the hospital right now, pushing –but I’m not. Not to mention that snow storms and new moons are supposed to be prime times for babies to be born.
I was telling my husband about my frustration. Mostly because I’ve never been bored in my life, but I am bordering on it now. He told me what I really want is my body back. This is true. But he also laughed at me. He said averages are for average people who eat average food and do average things. This was the control freak in me (that I didn’t even know existed) trying to make a perfect formula.
Then he said, “Could you imagine if there was a formula for an orgasm? If I pounded you this way for two minutes, and the slapped your ass three times at ten second intervals, you would have an orgasm.” That sounded so silly. We are not machines. We do not work in any set way responding to any set of events or stimuli. How boring and mundane it would be if we did.
So I have learned that Rumi will pick his own birthday, no matter how I coax him, and that A+B does not always =C.