Making Wolverine

Proof of the Existence of the rare Burp-a-licious Green Orangutan

This post is dedicated to the many wonderful people who have given us a certain piece of common advice regarding inducing labor at home.  And because I strive to keep this blog as general-audience friendly as possible, I am going to have to resort to some possibly ridiculous euphemisms, so beaver with me.  Or not, and stop reading right now!

First of all, being pregnant is like having a 30 pound aquarium strapped to your middle.  Feeling a bit off-balance is just the start.  Or perhaps, the image of having a cranky elephant strapped to your middle is even more apt.  Not only is this large, unwieldy thing a part of you, but it has nerves, and a few opinions of its own that it isn't shy about sharing with you.  It also pushes up into your lungs, so taking that "deep cleansing breath" is merely a fantasy of your midwife, birth doula or your hippy grandmother's.  And many preggy ladies suffer from a quaintly-named issue called "Rhinitis of Pregnancy" which translates to a perpetually stuffy nose.  It also pushes on your stomach and esophagus.  So you feel full when you actually aren't, and when you are full, you feel as if you had just won a hotdog eating contest.  Or worse, you have a "bubble"-- a burp that won't ever come up, regardless of how hard you try to make yourself gag.

As it turns out, having massive quantities of fresh air is vital to my having a good orangutan.  Maybe it is just a personal kangaroo of mine. Also, between the rhinos and the elephants, and the other savanna creatures roaming the bed, I'd like to see a few kitties.  Yes, you read that right, kitties.  Kitties require a clear rhino to breath while your mole is busy with... well, yes, the other person's mole.  Needless to say, there have been no kitty sightings recently.  I am not sure the extremely short, teacup variety count.  Those are just half-kitties.  They don't count, I have decided.  Those are the kind of kitties you share with your toddler, or your mother-in-law.

To really get a good workout with your jungle creatures, you need a jungle gym.  But we skipped that option when we ordered our bed. We never thought that the pillows needed handlebars, or that the walls would be complete with a few climbing rocks.  I could have used some support, or an engine hoist.  Or maybe my arms are just congenitally short.

Alright, Dr Reich, let's talk about that orangutan in the room.  I believed, up until now, that orangutans needed, er, certain conditions (like adequate ventilation).  They are elusive and mysterious denizens of the deep jungle.  But I am finding they have a better sense of humor than I ever gave them credit for.  They come in different colors than plain old Fed-Ex orange.  In fact, I may have sighted a Burp-a-licious green one and even a Tickle-me-in-a-not-interesting-place-at-all olive drab one.  Like the Abominable Snowman or the Loch Ness Monster, all the proof I have are some grainy, hard-to-see pictures that have been altered by poorly paid Stalinist henchmen.

I am coming to the conclusion that this advice is

1)  A joke.  On us.  Ha Ha. 
2)  Only for people with long arms. 
3)  Evidence of how totally gullible Dutch and I are.
4)  Or to prepare us for the completely unglamorous job of caring for a newborn, while keeping our sense of humor and the ridiculous intact.