I’m nine days away from my due date today, and I have been pondering pregnancy in general. I always used to tell Brian that I felt like we could handle this parenting thing. I read a book about Victorian life a while ago and they had horrifying child-raising practices. Dosing a baby with laudanum was common, and fruits and vegetables were considered dangerous for babies and toddlers until, like, 3. If the human race survived the Victorian era, surely Brian and I could raise a healthy child in this one. I mean, we’re already not going to give him any laudanum. That means we’re ahead of the curve, right?
The Victorian’s didn’t have it all wrong, though. At least not among the upper classes…
I used to think that Victorian confinement was such a sexist practice. Like, why can’t a woman go out in society that last trimester? What’s so wrong or unnatural about being pregnant that she has to stay at home and hidden? She can totally still do things.
Right about now, I’d LOVE me some Victorian confinement. Three months in the house to just relax and only see my nearest and dearest? Yes please. I could stay in my pajamas all day long and read romance novels. I wouldn’t have to worry about braving the hip pain on the staircase at work or picking the spidery elevator instead. Didn’t sleep at night? No problem. Just sleep all day. No dressing up, or trying to squeeze my feet into the one pair of shoes that mostly still fits. I could still see my best friends and my family. Sounds amazing, right?
How do we get back to that, guys? I mean, I guess I’d rather have Paid Family Leave first, but once that’s over I vote that we lobby for the right to confinement next – 3 months off before your due date to just wallow in the symptoms, think about how great having a small baby around is going to be, and make the best of it. I think it’s an important conversation we’re not having.
I stop working tomorrow, so I’ll have about a week of that goodness if this kid doesn’t come early. I’m still hoping that he does, though. He’s not even born yet, and I already know I’d rather have a small hand grasping my finger than enough sleep.
It’s going to be weird to be a parent. Obviously what I need is 3 months of confinement to adjust to the idea of it all…
Casey E. Hamilton 