Happy 2nd Trimester to the Fetus Pal! As we enter this magical time, here are some of the things I’m concerned about on a daily basis. Please note: This list does not include any particularly rational concerns, like how we’ll pay for child care or what difficulties I may have caring for a child while having physical limitations. I assume that stuff will eventually sort itself out.
My primary concerns, in descending order, are:
- That my child will grow up to be a mass murderer
- That I will lose my balance on the Metro platform and accidentally drop myself and my baby onto the electric third rail
- That I will take my baby out for a fun day at the zoo and accidentally drop him or her into the wild dingo pit
- That I will accidentally leave the baby in the car all day
- That I will crash the car with the baby in it
- That the car will break down in the middle of a snow storm with the baby in it and no one will be able to rescue us for days
- That my child will grow up to hate me, possibly to the point of murdering me (see first concern)
- That Buster the Cat will want to snuggle too closely with the baby and suffocate him. (This is actually a kind of legit concern. Buster really likes to sleep on or near people’s faces, and we’ll be mindful to keep him out of the nursery.)
- That my child will grow up to be a Neo-Con, or whatever the equivalent is in 2033
- That I will fall down the stairs while carrying the baby, resulting the the death of one or more of us
- That the baby will get eaten by the friendly dog next door
- That my baby will be deathly allergic to peanuts/shellfish/grains/water and we won’t realize it until the autopsy
- That my child will be born with that one super-rare disease where you don’t have any muscles to speak of and all your skin just hangs on your skeleton. You know the one. There’s a Facebook meme about how inspiring it is that the one girl in the U.S. who has it decided to become a motivational speaker in response to everyone on the internet saying she should kill herself for being the ugliest person alive.
- That my child will continue to look like one of the Mars Attacks! aliens, like s/he does in the most recent ultrasound
- That someone will break into the house and accidentally shoot the baby in a robbery-gone-wrong scenario
- That I will die in childbirth and Andy will have to raise the baby all by himself
- That Andy will die in childbirth I will have to raise the baby all by myself. Car accident on the way to the hospital? Slip and fall in the operating room? Lots of options; this could be a whole separate blog post.
Except for the scenarios in which I also die, I think my primary concern is that something awful will happen and that I’ll forever have to live with the guilt and shame of being the lady who [dropped her kid on the electric third rail/ dropped her kid in the dingo pit/ let her kid get killed by a domestic pet/ etc.]