don't anticipate
I was having acupuncture 10 days after Chicken was due in the hopes that stabbing him with small needles would get him to a place where he wanted a change of scenery.
So I had small needles in my feet. No problem.
Small needles in my knees. Ain't no thang.
Small needles in the webbing between my thumb and forefinger. HOLY SHIT.
The acupuncturist assured me that this was great preparation for labor. I thought because it hurt like a motherfucker and was completely out of my control (unlike, say, wall-sits which hurt like motherfuckers but you can choose to end at any time.)
But every time I saw her fingers move toward the needle stuck in the meaty part of my hand, I envisioned what was about to happen. I knew it was going to be excruciating. How did I know? Well, it was excruciating the last time she twisted that needle. And why would it be any different now?
She said to me, "Don't anticipate."
Oh.
Okay.
I told her to fuck off (in my head) and gritted my teeth (anticipating) through the rest of the session. Then, two days later when I went into extremely rapid labor I gritted my teeth through each contraction. Every time I could feel another one coming, I had two simultaneous thoughts: "no no no no this is going to hurt so bad" versus "don't anticipate." I never did master the art of not anticipating that day. Instead I mastered the art of asking for an epidural. Is there some kind of prize I can nominate epidurals for? Like Best Medical Advancement of the 20th Century?
Today when Chicken only slept for 30 minutes I spent that entire 30 minutes anticipating that he would wake up and it would be aaaawwwfuuuull trying to put him back down. Guess what? He did and it was. But I didn't get my 30 minutes of peace of mind. And every time I went to put him back in his crib and I thought. "this is going to be aaaaawfuuuuull when he starts screaming again," well, it was. But I also missed out on the moment of peace when he was quietly comforted in my arms.
So now he's down again, and I'm not anticipating. It's been 10 minutes. If he can go for an hour I'll call that a blue ribbon victory in no uncertain terms. But if he wakes up... NOW... I'm going to go in there with a peaceful heart and be in the moment.
(PS he slept for 70 minutes. That'll do, Chicken. That'll do.)
So I had small needles in my feet. No problem.
Small needles in my knees. Ain't no thang.
Small needles in the webbing between my thumb and forefinger. HOLY SHIT.
 |
| Oh, goodie. |
But every time I saw her fingers move toward the needle stuck in the meaty part of my hand, I envisioned what was about to happen. I knew it was going to be excruciating. How did I know? Well, it was excruciating the last time she twisted that needle. And why would it be any different now?
She said to me, "Don't anticipate."
Oh.
Okay.
I told her to fuck off (in my head) and gritted my teeth (anticipating) through the rest of the session. Then, two days later when I went into extremely rapid labor I gritted my teeth through each contraction. Every time I could feel another one coming, I had two simultaneous thoughts: "no no no no this is going to hurt so bad" versus "don't anticipate." I never did master the art of not anticipating that day. Instead I mastered the art of asking for an epidural. Is there some kind of prize I can nominate epidurals for? Like Best Medical Advancement of the 20th Century?
 |
| Sleeping like a baby. |
So now he's down again, and I'm not anticipating. It's been 10 minutes. If he can go for an hour I'll call that a blue ribbon victory in no uncertain terms. But if he wakes up... NOW... I'm going to go in there with a peaceful heart and be in the moment.
(PS he slept for 70 minutes. That'll do, Chicken. That'll do.)