Man plans, God laughs.
It's so relevant to my life at this point that I think I might have it carved as my epitaph.
The first really exciting thing was that I received a phone call from a good friend of mine reporting that she had just had her baby. The second (even more) exciting thing was learned that my littlest boy will come home for the very first time tomorrow.
These two things happened in a timespan of approximately 30 seconds.
And now, you couldn't pry this grin off my face with a crowbar.
But please don't try.
These two events also solidify my suspicion that God (or whatever entity is actually in charge up there) sits around chuckling at us mere mortals and our grand plans.
In the case of my friend, she had carefully planned to deliver her little one in the comfort of her home aided by a midwife, a doula, and her husband. She had even rented a tub in anticipation of a good old-fashioned water birth (and endured my insensitive taunts about swimming with her placenta).
Instead, she called me this morning from her hospital room to report the happy arrival of her son via c-section following 40 brutal hours of labor.
Our case was quite different, but no less a deviation from the master plan. My husband and I spent seven months congratulating ourselves on conceiving our first child with such precision that he was scheduled to arrive the week before summer vacation at the school where my husband teaches.
He arrived instead the first day of spring break.
Apparently someone didn't read the memo correctly.
Eight months later, my menstrual cycle returned with a vengeance after a 15 months hiatus. Let me just say that it was brutal. Apparently, the vengeful bitch had spent that entire time 'off' plotting to kill me. As the days stretched out following her initial attack and Aunt Flo had not returned to inflict more abuse, I began to worry about our *lack* of planning.
Sure enough, I was pregnant again.
Let that be a lesson for you kids out there: wrap it up.
I shouldn't have been surprised when things got complicated at around 21 weeks. Turned out my cervix had competence issues and despite all sorts of valiant efforts (Procardia, progesterone and pessaries, oh my!) I ended up delivering my second son at 31 weeks and one day, just one day shy of the gestational age of little dude #1.
One can only assume someone is handing out eviction notices in my uterus at 31 weeks, giving all fetuses no more than 48 hours to vacate the premises.
Today, after 24 days of giving the NICU nurses hell, my little man was cleared for takeoff into the big scary world five and a half weeks before his due date.
Woman gets to be mommy in spite of it all.