Gestating

I want to have some profound and witty things to say here, but the usually relentless flood of profundity and wit flowing from my brain (at least I THINK that's how it was) has trickled down to two thoughts:

Ow. Ow. Ow.

I am so tired, and I have done nothing all day.

Now, I know the latter one is not entirely true. Growing babies is not nothing. The trouble is, at this stage it is completely indistinguishable from doing nothing. Eat, sleep, trip down the hall, repeat. (Interrupt to settle squabble, change overdue diaper, and scrounge another meal.)

The degree of boredom in a job does not necessarily indicate its importance. Not unlike pregnancy, many very important jobs are 95% boredom and 5% terror. That does not diminish the boringness of the boredom. If only my brain didn't go on vacation with my body, I could be writing the Great American Novel between checking my feet for signs of swelling (not so far, but they look like they're thinking about it). But (as is evident), I can't even come up with material for a coherent blog post.

As the danger of pre-term labor begins to fade, one naturally progresses to the next concern of pregnancy: These babies are never going to come out. It does not matter that over 6 billion people are walking around the planet as proof that babies do eventually come out, every 8-months pregnant woman firmly believes that hers will prove the exception.

I've been reading a science fiction series in which technology is available--but not always used--to incubate babies in artificial replica wombs. The idea gets more appealing all the time. But can you imagine the societal consequences? It would put all other mommy wars to shame.