Rusted

Normally I wouldn't be trying to reference The Wizard of Oz, because it's a creepy movie that I will rarely watch. C'mon, the flying monkeys, the scary trees, and the alleged shadow of the guy hanging himself on set when the Wizard comes out? CREEPY. Well all right, it's one of those movies that I claim to love, and sort of do love, particularly Munchkinland and the music they play for that bitchy lady on the bike whose name I can't for the life of me remember right now. Which brings me to my point.

I've been feeling lately like a walking combination of the Tin Man, the Scarecrow, and the Lion. Someday whenever I write a book, it might be a book about pregnancy in real terms, with many references to pop culture. Kind of like "The Girlfriend's Guide to Pregnancy," except not quite so...girly and Cathy-comic-esque. (There are one too many mentions of the morbid fear of being weighed in this book, for my personal taste--what the hell do you expect the scale to do while your body manufactures a human being, go down? That is what we call Not Healthy.) Probably I won't ever write this book, because being honest with myself, most of the things I'm interested in writing on are happening Right Now, so as soon as I get to writing them--which in and of itself is rare--I'm bored. Which of course is why the blog as a form is so fantastic.

The ninth month of pregnancy, so far, is quite a joy. I'm to the point today where every time I stand up, I feel very very creaky, like the Tin Man, pre-oil treatment. A lot of times I'll wake up in the middle of the night to find that some of my fingers won't move, and my hips, legs, and lower back are all kind of a mess, like a rickety construction of popsicle sticks. Then there's the Scarecrow thing, the lack of brain. If I had a dollar for every time I spelled my name wrong in an email, or constructed a sentence with the wrong word, or left a word out, or just said something completely random and wrong to the context of the conversation, being stay-at-home mom would not be a financial issue. And finally, there's the lion. The lion is the giantest dork, in my book--something about his cheeks, I don't know. But I can kind of relate to his proverbial lack of courage because I'm real terrified of this whole labor thing. There's a lot you can do mentally to prepare, like reading over and over the stages of labor just so you know what the hell is happening when--that's helped me a little, because I was honestly clueless before. And breathing, don't forget to breathe. But give me a break--when the doctor is checking for dilation and already my eyes are rolling back into my head as my back spasms like the Pain Button has just been pushed? Not asking for advice, not trying to whine or pretend I'm the only one to ever go through this. But it's a hell of a lot scarier than the flying monkeys.