There are things I wish that someone had told me before I was thrown into the fire...
I wish someone had told me that it would not be cool to wear your first sorority t-shirt to your first sorority function. Wear something way cooler than you should. Even if you are just going bowling.
I wish someone had told me to have a bad-ass speech prepared for your brother's wedding.
I wish someone had told me to pack for the honeymoon before the rehearsal dinner instead of after the wedding.
I wish someone had told me baking soda on a sunburn is a very bad idea, not a good one.
I wish someone had told me pewter should not be cleaned with silver polish.
I wish someone had told me you should never use cheap blonde hair dye from a box. EVER.
I wish someone had told me that there is a difference in Italian sausage & Kielbasa sausage, as it will definitely effect the taste of dinner.
But, I do know one thing without being told: before you go to the hospital, you pack your bag.
This...bag... is something of an enigma to me. I have talked to other girlfriends who are currently pregnant and our recent conversations are not about 3d ultrasounds, swollen ankles, or the how we would kill for a piece of sushi or a glass of red wine. Our conversations are about...The Bag.
First, it has to be a cute bag, as you want the nurses and your doctor to know that, whilst empire waste shirts and elastic pants are fine for 9 months, you actually have good taste and can look sexy in high heels and shorts skirts or that you can be super pretty [preppy] with a Lilly sweater tied around your neck and a tennis skirt. "Where's your mallet?" can be answered with, "Who plays croquet?"
So you toss the Eddie Bauer duffel bag that is perfectly convenient & functional back in the attic. It worked going cross country, it works going cross-state, but it is immediately deemed not acceptable for the 2 mile trip to MCG. You bust out Vera. Perfectly pretty and completely pocketless and totally NOT travel friendly, Vera.
And then, what goes in Vera?
Underoos. Lots of 'em.
That is as far as I have gotten.
I hear that I need to pack nightgowns, but not nice ones. I did not ask why they should not be nice. I did not want to know.
An outfit to go home in. What the heck? Are you telling me that whilst I only have about 5 outfits that currently fit, I am to take one out of the rotation and stick it in an overpriced, quilted bag for it to just SIT THERE for 4 weeks? With underoos, socks, and gross nighties?
Real cool, Clark.
An outfit for Eileen to go home in. Crap. I'm taking a baby home?! Isn't she going to Mom's for about 18 years, give or take? That means we need a car seat. Wait, that's outside of The Bag.
Something to keep you busy. You mean other than the child? Call me crazy, but I do not think she goes in The Bag.
A digital camera. Thank you, Captain Obvious.
Snacks. Okay, LMC is not due for 5 weeks. And I am pregnant. With a bag upstairs in our bedroom... with snacks in it. The only thing that keeps me from eating in the middle of the night is the fact that I have to get out of bed, cut off the alarm, walk down the creaky steps (holding on to the hand rail), find a snack... fix the snack... and bring my belly back up the creaky steps, cut back on the alarm, and crawl back in bed. Those snacks would not last 5 days in The Bag upstairs, let alone 5 weeks.
Some websites said sandwiches, but I said gross. A 5 week old sandwich just sounds like too much for me. And my nausea is doing just fine on its own, thankyouverymuch.
A white hat for the nurse to put her footprints on... I'm not touching that one.
So, there is much to contemplate what goes into The Bag, much like a magician decides what goes in his hat or a sorority girl will put in her VB for mountain weekend. With far fewer outfits.
And underoos. Lots of 'em.