Twenty three weeks, as far as I can remember—it happened a whole week ago, which means my new and fuzzy pregnancy brain has little to no memory of it—was fairly unmomentous. The twentysomething weeks, in fact, are whizzing by super quickly in a blur of super-quickness, much like my actual twenties, although I don't even have alcohol as an excuse for it this time.
I guess I'm really looking seriously for-real pregnant now, which is exciting—although I don't habitually wear quite such tight clothes as the ones I wear in my weekly photos, which always seem to make me look a little more knocked up than I feel—and I am, for the most part, luxuriating in the button-free, zipper-free, glorious elasticated waistbandness of the maternity jean, which has to be one of the best inventions ever. (Quite apart from the comfort is the fact that you can whip 'em up and down at a moment's notice, which is wonderfully helpful when you're peeing 786 times an hour. Do you think they market them to pregnant women like that? Because they totally should. It's an added benefit!)
This week I did some things that made me feel super legit and in control, like booking my hospital tour (June 26th!) and registering the birth (at CPMC—any local San Francisco ladies popped one out there? I tried to read a few Yelp reviews to see what I was getting into, but the overwhelming majority just waxed lyrical about the "celebratory dinner" they give you after the baby's birth, which seemed a little rearranging-the-deckchairs-on-the-Titanic, honestly, but to each her own.)
I've also made a decision—thanks to your fabulous advice—on the tiresome infant carseat/stroller conundrum, and will just be buying a stroller frame to snap our carseat (probably the Chicco Keyfit 30) into, until we figure out, once the baby's older, what sort of real stroller we want to get. (If I had a dollar for every woman who's said to me "If I could do it all over again, I'd just get the car seat and the stroller frame to start," well, I'd be able to buy, like eight car seats. Not that that would be useful for anyone other than Octomom or Michelle Duggar—or Angelina and Brad, but let's face it, they probably just take gold-encrusted limos everywhere—but still.)
It's funny, actually; sorting out that whole stroller thing actually made me feel calmer about everything. The 19-weeks panic of MUST BUY ALL THE BABY THINGS NOW has faded—my spreadsheets languish, my lists remain uncrossed-off—and now I'm just feeling weirdly calm and nonchalant about the whole thing. I mean, I guess I'm having a baby in three months' time, but you wouldn't really know it from looking at my house. My general attitude these days is basically just ehhhh, it'll happen. Baby'll come out. Baby'll cry. Baby'll make us run out to the 24-hour Walgreens at 3am because we don't have something important. I'm not a particularly laidback person by nature so I'm not sure where this laissez-faire attittude is coming from all of a sudden, but maybe it's my desire not to be one of those moms who make such a Big Deal about everything—"and I've decided that this exact song must be playing in my birthing suite the moment the baby makes his entrance into the world! In fact, could we try and make it happen at the 1:45 mark? I love the chord change there!"—that's making me step back and chillax a little.
(Is it obvious that I'm using the word "chillax" ironically? Like "swell" and "necking"? I do hope so.)
There is one thing I'm still fretting over a little, though, and that's the question of whether or not I need a bassinet. Or a Moses basket or a co-sleeper or some other thing to put the baby in for the first few weeks so he can catch his Zs. I'd been under the—apparently naive!—impression that I could just.....I don't know, put him straight into his crib, but this has elicited a few raised eyebrows when I've mentioned it recently, and now I'm confused about whether it's some sort of terrible faux pas that will lead (worst case) to SIDS and (best case) to a lifetime of abandomnent issues that'll mean Hamish can't fall asleep at night unless he's holding his college roommate's hand.
Google is divided, so tell me: am I crazy? Can I put him straight into his crib once we bring him home from the hospital or do I need a smaller, snugglier, cozier space to start? His room will be right next to ours, so I'm not sure how necessary it is to have him in with us at night—or, indeed, how any sort of bassinet would fit into the space—but will I want/need/die without a bassinet or basket anyway? On the one hand, space in this house is limited, so I don't want to buy anything I won't use, but on the other hand, I have just seen an adorable white wicker one on Craigslist that I'll snap up if need be.
Huh. Wow. Remember how I said I was super relaxed about all this stuff now? I just read my last two paragraphs back to myself and almost hurt my eyes from rolling them back in my head so far. Oh yeah, I'm relaxed all right. As relaxed as a person about to jump out of a plane with a parachute made of coiled rattlesnakes. Into a dentist's office. For a root canal.