Thought it was worth trying to squeeze in one post on pregnancy, seeing as how today marks my 40th week of pregnancy with my third child. Every morning I wake up and say to myself, "Could today be the day?" And then every night, once I go about my day and it turns out it wasn't the day, I wonder, "Will tonight be the night?" There is nothing that makes you feel more like a ticking time bomb than being nine months pregnant, I tell you what.
I'm still working full time - so I get it from my coworkers when I walk into work. ("She's still here!")
I'm married - so I get it from my husband every morning before he leaves for work. ("Should I go to work today, honey?")
I'm a daughter - so I know my mom and mother-in-law are waiting with baited breath. (If I send any text, everyone think it's the inevitable "I'm in labor" text.)
I'm a mom - to two toddler girls who are so (mostly-delightfully, occasionally-dreadfully) needy, that every physical move I make to try to meet their needs, I'm reminded of this other human child I have incubating inside of me. (Bathing two kids, leaning over the bathtub to try to wash sand out of their hair? Nearly impossible. Making lunches for daycare? I consider that a workout at this stage in the game; reaching for the lunchboxes is a stretch that leaves me breathless; moving quickly to get lunches made before I have to load the kids up in the car in the morning is my cardio that gives me a little brow sweat, if I'm keeping it real...)
Needless to say, it's impossible to forget I'm this ticking time bomb.
To say I've been anxious about this upcoming birth would be the understatement of my year. My last daughter was delivered less than an hour after getting to the hospital. It was... an intense hour. Being that she's not even two years old yet, that hour is still fresh on my mind. And effing with my mind, to tell you the truth. I woke up in the middle of the night a couple of weeks ago with some... how shall I put it? Waste management stomach issues. I thought it was perhaps labor. Once I realized it wasn't, I still spent the rest of the night waking up every half-hour, with mild anxiety about what it would feel like when it really WAS labor. That night messed with my mind big time.
Tonight, my husband let me know he preferred my three hour labor over my twenty-four hour labor. "It's like I got to stand there and support you, but then we just fast forwarded to the part where we get to hold the new little baby really quickly." Uhhh yeah. OK. Easy for you to say, buddy. He's a gem, though. He also likened this stage of parenthood (the waiting-for-your-wife-to-go-into-labor part) to Christmas. "It's kind of like I asked for a Nintendo for Christmas, and then I didn't get it. Except it'll be Christmas next week, and I WILL get the Nintendo." I think he should write a book, no? I can't say I blame the guy, though... I've dubbed myself The Mom Who Cried Baby. For the last two weeks (ever since the Waste Management night), I have gone to bed with closing comments such as "Well I have felt really run down, and walking is getting hard, and I'm crampy" only to wake up at my usual 4:30 AM to pee and let Nick know "nope, just peeing" and not to get too excited because he's definitely going to work today. So yes, I understand that he feels like he asked for a Nintendo and didn't get one. I have burst his bubble that Santa isn't real, but that The Stork is and to just be patient because The Stork will deliver his Nintendo soon.
But I've got to keep my eye on the prize. The prize being the amazing privilege of getting to call myself Mom to another amazing child. And worry less about the short term labor stuff. I've got to remember the joy I get from watching my daughter play in a lake for the first time, or see a balloon in the far-off-distance and yell "booooon!", or have one fall and scrape her knee and the other run over and kiss it for her, or to hear my daughter tell Daddy, unprompted and out of nowhere, "I love you to the SKY and back!", or have a conversation with my four year old about babies and how they grow in your belly and "wow that's AMAZING" (and also, "Adopting a baby is so cool, cuz people can share their babies!" - we covered a lot during that talk), or to ask my 1.5 year old how her day was and she replies "Good. Pay ow-sye." These things never get old to me. They're such darlings and delights, I can't wait to meet this other little soul and see how he fits into our little family. Just as I said when Amelia was baking, I can't even imagine having another child, but I know from experience that once we meet him, we'll wonder how we ever really lived without him. I cannot wait.
