A look to my future

The days and weeks seem to be blowing by and my belly seems to be getting bigger. Since I live in a perpetual, blissful state of denial, most things like the calendar, mirrors, and the moving dial on the scale haven't had much of an impact.

However, the last couple of weeks, I've had many family, friends and workmates try to pry my rose-coloured glasses from my eyes.

It began with my mother - yes, my very own mother, whom I most resemble, especially in our indifferent and unassuming attitude to life's most important events. Sitting around her kitchen table a couple of weeks ago, we were chatting about nothing of interest. When she says, so have you looked for a crib yet. Now, for a normal 8-month prego, this wouldn't be a surprising question, but for me, I nearly fell off my chair.

My aloof response of "we'll figure it out" didn't win any points with her and I was then reverted back to a 12 year old child as my mother lectured me on how I can't just figure things out, that a baby has needs right from the start and I won't have time or the energy to figure it out when I get there.

Well, thank you very much, mother!

The next day, I had a playdate with my neices, which unexpectedly turned into a baby training camp.

I was asked to feed my 4-month old neice. Sounds easy enough, right? Well, the chubby munchkin supposedly chugged her bottle too quickly and ended up projectile vomiting all over me. Slopped in regurgitated milk, I was told that I have to pace her feeding. It's 2009, shouldn't bottles be designed to do that for me?? I then went in for a diaper change - just for practice. Thankfully, there was no comedic episode. But, my proud zia bubble was pinpricked when I realized that it took me more than 20 minutes to complete. If I keep up that pace, my child will never leave the diaper station.

If that didn't leave me feeling defeated and absolutely unprepared, I've had one kind, generous friend after another ask me where I'm registered. Since I'm not, I'm then provided with a list of things I just must have. And, while steeped in kindness, every suggestion comes with a "bad mother" clause. You know, the if-you-don't-do-what-is-recommended-I'll-be-a-horrible-mother-that-puts-her-child's-life-and-well-being-in-jeopardy clause.

While I could do without all the pressure and the feelings of utter dispair, the reality of my situation - that I'm really going to have to take care of a child in a few short weeks - is starting to sink in. This, of course, has only increased my urge to hide under the bed covers and wish it could be six months from now and everything's fine.