I don't think he has any intention of coming out early. He seems quite comfortable to stay inside me forever. Even though at my last checkup I was 1 or 2 cm dilated and 70% effaced. Even though his head has dropped low and now rests, lovingly, in my pelvis, so that it feels like I'm walking around with a grapefruit between my legs. In spite of these signs, the rest of his little body is clinging tenaciously to my ribs (I think he's wrapped his legs around them) in an effort to Stay. Exactly. Where. He. Is. To be fair, it's a lot to ask for a first baby to come early. But I just want what's left of my body back.
Not that we're actually ready for him. The changing table is in a million pieces on the nursery floor. The crib is on back order until May. The name situation remains unresolved. Margot and Shannon are pushing for Henry, David's choice, and while I admit it grows on me, I stil have my feet firmly planted in a different camp. (A SECRET camp! Sorry). A mother knows her child! I know what he wants to be named! But anyway, there's that. Plus we haven't organized the diapers (apparently this is an important task), ordered a breast pump, or finished packing the damn bag. Most importantly, we haven't found a mohel.
Ah, the mohel. For those of you who don't know, this is the guy who snips the Jewish baby boys on the eighth day. It has to be on the eighth day, so planning is critical. But there's a little glitch in my planning. You see, I never picked up my conversion papers from my Rabbi in New York. Don't ask me why, I just was always afraid to, as if in obtaining them I would have to go through another session with the beit din, asking about my commitment to Judaism. This means I have no proof of my Jewishness to give to a Mohel, who normally simply asks for your parents' Jewish names. Which mine obviously don't have. So I called my Rabbi (I was shaking) to ask for them. He was terribly surprised that I didn't have them, but agreed to look for them without so much as an "Are you still keeping kosher?" This is good, as I didn't want to mention the fact that I am having a baby out of wedlock with a man who is only half Jewish (the wrong half).
Unfortunately, my papers appear to be lost. To remedy this I had to call the other Rabbis on my beit din, the original signers of the Declaration of Rebecca's Jewishness, and get them all to sign it again. They agreed to, but getting three Rabbis together is, oy vey, quite a struggle. It took me two months to organize my mikveh! So now I am waiting for my papers to be faxed, at which time I can go for an orthodox mohel. If I don't get them in time, I'll have to go reform. Not that I have anything against reform, but when you're a convert you want your life events to be as kosher as possible lest anyone question you (or in this case, my son). More on this "who is a Jew" stuff later. For now, suffice it to say that this is a pretty big stress on me, and pretty much the only good thing about my son staying put for now.