The buzz is gone. It left when I went to bed, which gives support to Trena’s theory that loopiness can be the baby cutting off the blood supply to the brain. It was fun while it lasted.

This morning I’m crampy, as I have been for a couple of days, fueling my constant “Labor?…….labor?…….labor?……” soundtrack. I’m also feeling less excited and more nervous. I’ve been so impatient for the c-section date, counting weeks and days and saying things like “This is the last day of the calendar week before the calendar week the baby will be born in! Yay!,” and now there are two days left and I am feeling a little queasy.

Today I had my pre-op at the hospital, to which I had to drag three children. Lucky anesthesiologist, asking me important medical questions over the din of Edward naming everything he sees (and continuing to name it again and again until I repeat it back to him), and Elizabeth protesting the whole concept of the stroller. Meanwhile I was signing the paperwork, which says basically that I know I could die during the c-section, and that if that happens I totally understand. Sign here.

Tomorrow, then, will be my last day of being able to do anything. On Thursday I have to leave the house at 5:50 in the morning, so Thursday is not a day to be finishing up the laundry or baking a final batch of muffins. All there will be time for on Thursday is gathering up the last-minute things: my pillow, my journal, the book I’m reading; my face lotion and my brush. Main fret: that I will forget to set my alarm, or that it will not go off. For my last c-section, I set three alarm clocks and a kitchen timer.

The school nurse called and asked me to come get Rob, and I did. The school nurse wants me to have him tested for whooping cough. WHOOPING COUGH. Do you think it’s okay if I choose not to freak out about this? I feel as if I am at full freak-out capacity, and can’t add one more issue. Not only is whooping cough dangerous to small children and especially not-yet-vaccinated newborns, but if Rob has it he can’t come to the hospital when the baby is born, and he is so excited to do that, and he would be so disappointed, and also, frankly, it would be a hassle to figure out what to do with him instead. So I am just going to pretend that all this can possibly be is a cold, and that I am taking him to the pediatrician this afternoon just to be a completely responsible person who pursues every possibility. Because I think that is in fact the case: I think he is very unlikely to have whooping cough, and that all the appointment will do is set my mind at ease. So I would like to set it at ease now, instead of spending the whole afternoon pacing and worrying. And I would like not to think about the school nurse, who, when we picked up Rob, asked if any of the other kids were coughing, and when I said no, but that Elizabeth had a runny nose, said soberly, “Yes, that’s how it starts.”

I don’t know if any of you have experienced a good prescription painkiller, or perhaps the similar feeling–from what I’ve heard–produced by certain non-prescription substances. The feeling is familiar to me from postpartum, when the lovely lovely pills put a barrier between me and the other feeling, the one where I’m imagining my baby as an old man and weeping because life is so very fleeting, and then thinking about how I have made a terrible mistake to get married and have children, and then thinking about how I will never be able to cope with this new workload because it is too much and I have really gone too far this time. Then it is time for my painkiller and I see why people who have lives that are genuinely unhappy–rather than made temporarily unhappy by hormonal adjustments–might resort to such substances without the authorization of a physician.

Tonight I have that painkiller feeling, but with nothing to explain it. I was washing the dishes, and my hands and the bridge of my nose started feeling…tingly. And I felt distant from what I was doing, and inclined to admire the soap bubbles and wash the dishes more slowly to appreciate the roundness of the plates and the sparkly way the water was running over them. BUZZED. But why?

When I am 38 weeks pregnant, I attribute everything to possible labor. Crampy? Maybe I’m in labor! Lower back a little sore? Maybe I’m in labor! Not hungry? Maybe I’m in labor! Feeling buzzed for no reason? Hey, it COULD be labor.

Underneath the “whoaaaaaaaa! look at my hands!” feeling, I started getting stressed: if it were labor, I’d still have last-minute things I’d need to do–but darned if I could make myself do anything except look at the pretty bubbles. Then, suddenly, I was galvanized. I separated out the “fun things for the kids to do while waiting around at the hospital” stuff from the “fun things for the kids while Paul is trying to handle all four of them at home” stuff. I packed up a few more things that can be packed up now, such as batteries and a tiny screwdriver for the little games that will certainly run out of batteries ten minutes after we get to the hospital. I put a book of Sudoku puzzles in my hospital bag, and remembered to include a pencil.

And I calmed the hell down, because it’s not labor. Early labor feels very little like “yummy painkillers!” and very much more like, “Ouch ouch ouch damn it this hurts!”–as I remember it from my firstborn, anyway.

Now I’m lethargic again, but still with that strange high feeling. I think I’ll go sit in the recliner and admire the weave of the fabric until Thursday.

Paul and I are having a little disagreement, and I’m hoping to add people to my side.

I have heard that if you want to have a tubal ligation at the same time as your c-section, OBs usually have a cut-off date for making that decision. That is, they are not going to allow a 39-weeks-pregnant woman to come hobbling in all swelled up and miserable and say, “Tie those tubes! I’m never having another baby!”

When I heard this, it made perfect sense to me. Many a woman has decided late in pregnancy (or in my case, in the barfing early part of pregnancy) that she never wants to go through this again. Then the baby is here, and the swelling recedes, and time goes by, and a baby starts to seem like a great idea again.

Furthermore, I think I have heard of this “decision cut-off” many times, and from many sources. Unfortunately for my argument with Paul, I could only think of one specific friend who had claimed to have this situation with her OB, and I’m fuzzy on the details because it has been a long time since she told me about it, and she and I aren’t friends anymore so I can’t call her and ask her. Paul seems to think that every time I hear a fact, I should write down the time, date, and people involved, and then get the document notarized.

You would think that Paul would not care if I claimed incorrectly that some OBs had a certain week before which you had to say you wanted a tubal ligation during your c-section. But he cares very much, it appears, very much indeed. He immediately started plugging terms into search engines, and then saying confidently that he could not find one single reference to any such thing. He demanded, as I’ve mentioned, to hear my sources–ideally with telephone numbers so that he could interview them himself.

It threatened to turn into a fight, except that I had just eaten a large bowl of chocolate ice cream with crushed oreos, and I was feeling mellow, and also I am far too large to storm out of the room, and so I wasn’t rising to his challenges, and so eventually he rolled his eyes and went back to playing a computer game, on which he vented his crabbiness instead of doing it at me, to which I say good deal.

I then did a little more searching myself, but all I found were references to a 30-day waiting period in general–that is, unrelated to pregnancy, just that many states and health plans require non-pregnant women to wait 30 days after making the decision before having a tubal ligation.

So here is what I need from you. Ideally, I need first-hand stories about you and about your personal OB, and about your personal OB telling you that he or she would need to know before Week X if you wanted a tubal ligation at the same time as your c-section or else he/she wouldn’t do it. If you are without personal stories, secondhand stories are also good. In fact, I’ll even take, “I heard one time that some girl…” stories.

Also, in case any of you were wondering what Paul was wondering, this is not something I’m even remotely considering for myself. It was that I wanted to use the cut-off date as an example in an email, and then I got disproportionately interested in the subject when I couldn’t quickly find the information I was looking for. Then I made the mistake of mentioning my search difficulties to Paul, and here we are.

Taking down the vinyl shower curtain liner and throwing it away, then putting the fabric curtain and the shower curtain rings into a long soak followed by a vigorous wash cycle, then wiping down the shower curtain rod, then putting the shower curtain back up with a brand-new liner. That is just good housekeeping.

Buying four 12-packs of toilet paper. That is just being prepared.

Baking one hundred and forty-four muffins and freezing them. That is smart meal-planning.

Insisting to Paul that the oil in the minivan must be changed before the 31st. That is sensible automobile maintenance and will prolong the life of our vehicle.

Keeping up with the laundry so relentlessly I am almost but not quite washing individual pairs of socks. That is merely an improvement over the usual Mt. Laundry situation.

Do you think that nesting is biological? That is, do you think it’s motivated by the various chemicals of pregnancy, and/or that it is connected to the nearness of labor? Or do you think nesting is a result of the natural restlessness that comes with intense waiting, and/or the sensible realization that after the baby comes there will be less time to devote to baking and cleaning?

I’ve been listening to this song by Akon, and in fact I am listening to it right now and so I thought you might like to listen, too. The first couple of times I heard it, I was in the car and I liked the song but…I’m too old for it. At my age, when I hear “Nobody wanna see us together” lyrics, I don’t think, “Yeah, old people are against young love! because old people are bitter and have never known what Real Love is! and so they don’t want to see anyone else happy!” anymore. I think, “Well, why don’t they want to see you together? Is it really a matter of young love, or is it more like outstanding warrants, or two pregnant ex-girlfriends, or that you’re all slumpy and disrespectful and can’t keep your pants up, or that you’re cheating on her incessantly and other people think that’s not a good sign even though you keep saying it doesn’t mean anything, or…?”

Then I was looking up the song online to see who it was by, and I discovered that the song is being picked up here and there as a gay love song instead of the teenage love song I’d been hearing it as. Seen in that light, I can love the song. Maybe not every lyric detail works out, but I sure am a lot more inspired by lyrics of facing opposition and of fighting for the right to be together if I’m thinking of, say, gay marriage, as opposed to high school romance.

Before I begin this post about baby registries, I would like to make an announcement: ONE! WEEK! LEFT! Thank you.

Registries are most useful for the first baby, because there is so much crap you need/want all at once. But first-baby registries tend to be…silly. It’s no one’s fault: you’re pregnant for the first time and you go into a big baby store and what are you going to do? Basically click the “one of everything, please” button on the scanner. Tiny leather slippers for $29.99? Click! $5.00 Johnson’s baby shampoo that you could get at Target for $2.50? Click! In utero flashcard set? Click! $24.99 receiving blanket that is exactly like the pack-of-4-for-$7.99 type except that it’s rolled up and tied with a natural canvas bow? Click! White bibs? Click!

I think we can use many of our wedding registry questions here. For example, what did you put on your baby registry that you later used as an example to mock your own naivete? What did you register for that turned out to be pure genius, whether you knew it would be or not?

Registry or no, what did you get a ton of? What did you not get any of? Everyone told us not to buy anything in newborn sizes because we’d get inundated with it, but apparently everyone had heard about that because we got no newborn stuff and a ton of things in sizes like 18-24 months and 2T, which I then had to find a storage system for, and which then often turned out to be the wrong season when the baby finally hit that size. We also got four million hand-knitted baby blankets. Four million, seriously.

Did you find that parents gave you better, more practical gifts than non-parents? I found that some of my non-parent friends wanted to give me gifts long after it was too late. One non-parent friend visited when the baby was a month old, and she complained that I already had a car seat–she’d wanted to buy me the car seat. Um…I needed it…earlier than this–but thanks for the thought.

Did you get anything dreadful? We got a set of religious children’s books for a religion we don’t belong to, but I wouldn’t call that “dreadful,” just presumptuous and annoying. I am trying to think back, but I don’t think we got anything that was “homemade toilet paper holder” bad.

What were your best baby presents? I’m thinking here mostly of things you didn’t register for but that surprised you with their usefulness or sweetness. My brother gave my first baby a copy of a book he and I both loved to scraps as children–he’d had to search online and pay a million dollars for a copy, because it was long since out of print. One of Paul’s co-workers gave us a Baby Morgan mini-blankie, which Rob still sleeps with, and in fact we bought four more of them as spares–and good thing we did, too, because the whole company went out of business and you can’t even get them anymore.

Gift certificates were especially awesome for a baby present, because we didn’t really know what we’d need. We got the basics (crib, car seat) ourselves, but we were looking at everything else and thinking, “Well, do we need a frontpack? Do we need a bouncy seat? A mobile? A swing? A playgym?” We didn’t know. Gift certificates let us go out later and buy what we had figured out we wanted.

And what about non-first babies? Did you register? Did you get anywhere near as many presents? We got presents from what seemed like the entire world for our first baby, and then a little smattering for the second–but that seemed appropriate. It’s almost like the difference between a first wedding (“set up a household” level of gifts, even if you’ve been living on your own for years and years) and a non-first wedding (“She can still use the crock-pot we gave her for the first one, even if she’s cooking for a different man” level of gifts). First-baby gifts are to get you set up with all the stuff you need to move from non-parents to parents; non-first-baby gifts are mostly from people who love to shop for baby stuff.

A final note on baby gifts. Two of you have emailed me to ask if I have a baby registry or if you can send me a gift for the new baby. You are so, so nice, and also pretty and skinny and you have great hair and everyone secretly copies your fashion choices. But this is our fifth baby, and Paul thinks we already have twice as much baby stuff as we should (hello, it was on clearance), and besides, I can’t give away my secret identity: even Paul doesn’t know my real name isn’t Swistle. But I am touched, and I thank you.

Oh, man, I loved the wedding present stories! The regifts with the original to/from card still in the boxes! The yard sale crap that cost more than a nice new present would have cost! The fake wooden book with a gold Jesus on it! The homemade toilet paper holder! The guess-a-size lingerie! The painted ice skate with a fake bird in it! Three-foot-long wall hangings of The Last Supper! The book helpfully advising you to consult the Lord before resorting to the divorce you’ll inevitably want! The suggestion that the colors you’ve registered for can’t be what you had in mind! Ha ha ha ha ha ha wheeeeeeeeeeeze!

It’s nice to know that people still get a ton of candy dishes, vases, and unusable silver/crystal. My mom caught a case of Registry Envy from my cousin, and is now fretting about all the silver/crystal she and my dad got almost forty years ago and how much better it would have been if they could have registered for other things. Presumably things in avocado green and harvest gold covered with little smiley faces and daisies, things that would at this point be even worse than the crystal and silver, and would in any case be broken or worn out by now. Just saying.

I’ve heard that thing about knives being a bad gift. I heard the “it cuts your love” thing for weddings, and that for non-wedding situations it means you want to sever a relationship. (What I usually do is stop returning calls, rather than dropping big bucks on a set of knives and hoping they get the expensive hint—but to each her own.) The year after I heard about the knife-gift symbolism, I gave my mother-in-law a set of knives for Christmas. She really did need them; the symbolism was merely a bonus. In fact, it seems like knives would make a nice wedding gift for a couple you thought shouldn’t be getting married. You’d have the satisfaction of the symbolism, as I did with my mother-in-law, and yet you’d be getting them a genuinely nice gift so you’d look like a nice person with good taste. Wicked.

Those of you who wish you had matched flatware, allow me to direct your attention to the Amazon.com kitchen sale, which is on until May 28th and includes some bitchin’ flatware sets. I think my favorite is the Oneida Banbury service for 12 for $49.99 down from $180.00, with free shipping–but it’s hard not to be tempted by the Reed & Barton service for 8: what little girl doesn’t dream of her first game-bird-themed flatware set?

So. Onward. Two people have suggested that the next discussion be about baby registries. Babies and registries? You barely need to touch my wrist, let alone twist my arm. I’ll do a post on that soon, so be thinking about the topic and composing your comments.

Hi, and welcome to Let Your Kids Watch TV All Morning Because You’re Too Wired And Want To Talk Online! Day!

Yesterday, our mail carrier delivered a package…to the side of the road. It was a large but lightweight package, and he left it next to our mailbox, in the dirt by the side of the road. I don’t think they’re supposed to do that, are they? He’s not our usual carrier; our usual carrier always brings the packages to the porch. I was almost mad enough to call the post office and complain, but then I was like, “Do I really want to follow through on this?,” and my answer to myself was, “No, I want to see if there is any fudge left.” So I went out to the road and brought in the package before someone could steal it, and then I ate the rest of the fudge.

Did you catch the Amazon.com toy sale? It’s a little frustrating because so many of the things in the sale category are not, in fact, on sale (apparently because they have only certain quantities available at the sale price, and then the item reverts to its usual price but somehow stays in the sale category–VERY ANNOYING), but if you’re all wired up and in the mood to shop, it’s the perfect opportunity to browse pages and pages of nothing you’re interested in. I did find a bunch of little handheld toys for Rob and William to play with at the hospital while they’re waiting for the baby to be born, and maybe those toys will even arrive before I go to the hospital, but it is not likely.

Yesterday I had my pre-op appointment with the OB. My PRE-OP. Because there are only EIGHT DAYS LEFT UNTIL MY OP. The OB and I discussed things such as whether I can have the epidural out earlier than usual, since I hate that “dead weight from the ribs down” feeling, and also, if you can imagine, that “tube in my spine which could leave me permanently paralyzed if I move wrong” feeling. I wanted to ask about this before, but I didn’t want to be one of those patients who thinks she knows better than the entire medical community. Finally I thought of a good way to ask about it: instead of asking if I “could” have the epidural out early, I asked if it “worked” to have the epidural out early. See, then he can be Expert Doctor, and perhaps then he won’t feel like showing me how much pain I could theoretically be in. He said that after the surgery was over, he could either do a “walking epidural” (the nummy narcotic part of the recipe without the numbing part), or he could take the epidural out entirely and do oral medication (again, that would be the nummy narcotics). Furthermore, it turned out he’s a big fan of shorter epidurals, because then the patient can move around sooner and that’s good for circulation and healing, so now he loves me even more! Which is good, because when someone is going to cut me open with a scalpel, I like as much love and goodwill in the room as possible.

The house was freezing this morning (I left the windows open all night), but I hate to turn on the heat when later it’s going to be overly warm in here and I’ll be puffing up. So William and I baked muffins, which raised the temperature a couple degrees of pumpkin-spicy goodness. Highly recommended tactic. And now the freezer is seriously out of room for muffins. Really: no more muffins.

I paid bills today, and it was exciting to think that the next time these bills are due, the baby will be here. Also, I paid a few of the smaller, more annoying ones a few months ahead, so that I wouldn’t have to mess with them soon after the baby was born. For example, we have this one credit card that we only use for a small monthly automatic billing thing, and I should really switch that to another card but I never feel like messing with it. And so this little bill arrives each month, and sometimes I put it aside because it’s a pain, and it has an unusually short time between bill date and due date, and so sometimes I end up having a heart attack because it’s overdue and the late fee is more than double the entire amount of the bill. Anyway, I paid that for the next four months, so screw you, tiny little pain-in-the-butt bill!

You guys are fulfilling my wildest dreams with this wedding present discussion. It is such a relief to have people to talk about these things with, and it is a relief to Paul, too, I’m sure.

I started writing comments on your comments, but there were too many comments I wanted to comment on and I gave up. But I especially loved the idea some of you mentioned, to take something from the registry and make it more personal: adding recipes to cookware, etc. I LOVE that idea, and I wish I had consulted you creative people before sending off two cake pans in a box. At the very least I could have put in a cake mix! Ooh, or I could have gotten them the little cake-decorating kit I like so much! Well, next time.

The story of the KitchenAid mixer that was fulfilled from the registry but then never showed up–that haunts me. What could have happened to it? Did it just get checked “fulfilled” by total accident? Did someone buy it but then change their mind and keep it themselves? Did they have it shipped and it got lost in the mail and they’re still miffed about not getting a thank-you note? Terrible to think of!

Oh, and I love the idea of registering with a charity! You know how at the end of a lot of registries you can also select a gift card option, with a little pull-down menu so people can specify how expensive a gift card? It would be great to have something similar at the end of a registry, with one or two charities.

All right, so we have discussed registries, now let’s talk about non-registry-related wedding present stuff.

When my parents got married, they got many toasters. Many toasters. I can’t remember how many, that’s why I’m saying “many” twice like that, to communicate that there were more toasters than they could possibly use, but without getting corrected by my parents in the comments section.

When we got married, people joked about how many toasters we’d get, but we didn’t get a single toaster. What we got a lot of were sets of cloth placemats with coordinating cloth napkins and napkin rings. I can’t remember how many we got, but it was lots. So many, it got to be increasingly funny every time we opened another set. They were beautiful, and such a good gift idea, but I’m saying that was our “ha ha toasters.”

So first what I want to know is what was YOUR toasters? What did you get lots of, and what did you get none of?

Next, what did you get that you didn’t expect and wouldn’t have asked for, but it turned out to be awesome? Someone gave us a set of Chicago Cutlery steak knives, and we never eat steak so I thought we wouldn’t use the knives, but they’re perfect for non-steak cutting jobs, and they came in a handy little holder that sits right on the counter, and I use them every single day. They’re one of our very best gifts, and I never would have known I wanted them.

Another surprising and pleasing gift was a big box of Christmas stuff, mostly an assortment of ornaments. Our wedding was a couple of months before Christmas, and we didn’t have much for a Christmas tree, so it was fun to get a “starter set” like that.

Next, what did you get that was a total failure, or really comically bad? Someone gave us an enormous (the size of a poster) cross-stitch with our names and our wedding date and clearly a whole lot of work done on the border–and there were two errors. My name was spelled wrong, and the date of our wedding was wrong. Ha ha ha ha ha! I mean, what do you do with that?

We also received a kit of wedding materials (book, inspirational plaque, daily devotional, etc.) put out by a well-known religious figure of a religion we don’t belong to. Thereafter, we received regular mailings from this religious group, and when I say we strongly disagree with the political and social stances of this group, I am understating to keep things pleasant. I am an expert at writing thank-you notes, but this one was my greatest challenge.

Oh dear, that ends things on a negative note, doesn’t it? Let’s reflect instead on the funny cross-stitch! Ha ha ha! And now tell me all your wedding present stories: your toasters and your cloth napkins, your steak knives and your Christmas ornaments, your cross-stitches and your thank-you-note challenges.

I am having the kind of night where, after being sleepy all day, I am lying awake in the dark thinking about (1) my chipped filling, (2) the upcoming birth of this baby and whether the name we’ve chosen is no good and we need to start all over from scratch, and (3) how for millions of years people have lain awake in the dark just like this, worrying all their worries, thinking all the fretful things that keep a person awake at night–and now all those people are dead.