11 days
Intensely tired. Something won't let me sleep. God knows I've tried today. Finally crawled from bed a bit after 7 pm, my eyes scary blurry, trying to convince myself it's just from trying to sleep for so long unsuccessfully. I'm avoiding looking out of my left eye, just in case it's still blurry.
11 days to go. Doug willed the baby to come out this weekend, telling my belly that it would be a good time since he wouldn't have to miss any work. So practical. If I were him, I'd be willing the baby to come sometime in the middle of the work week, just to have a good excuse to skip work. That's me, that's him. He's a better man.
When we got married, I counted down the days with such feverish anticipation. The evening before our wedding was almost impossible to withstand. I made the mistake of going out and celebrating with too much exuberance. The next morning I was positively sick, sicker than I ever had been before--the term hang-over barely began to describe what I was going through. Poisoned, more like. I blamed it on the tap beer, thinking that it had spoiled, and I was angry that the bartender supplied us with rotten beer.
It was supposed to be the best day of my life and I vomitted more times than I had in all the years I knew him combined. I could barely drag myself from bed. I laid there, bride-to-be, cursing and wishing that we could call up everyone and tell them to just come back tomorrow to celebrate our wedding. It didn't seem fair that I couldn't change this date, set in stone, to another day where I would feel much healthier and happier and fairy tale story beautiful.
It was still the happiest day of my life, vomit and all. By 2 am, all illness was gone and I felt like how I imagined getting married would feel.
Well, baby's due date isn't set in stone. It's an estimated date, but I still count down to it much like I counted down to my wedding. There's just this facinating twist where he could come anytime between now and that day or even after. Somedays I want it to be The Day and somedays I feel much like I did September 17th, 2004: desperately wanting it to be any other day since I'm not ready. Are we ever really ready for childbirth though? It's not up to us, and probably for good reason. If it were up to me, I'd procrastinate forever.
A few nights ago, in that space right before sleep, a voice told me with all wisdom: Surrender. Surrender yourself to the process and it will happen.
I'm holding out. I can't find acceptance. I'm trying to hard to make things happen on my terms. That's not how it works. In my pregnancy community, there have been posts of soon to be mothers saying, "This and this is complete, I'm ready now." and very shortly after they've had their babies. My list of things that I find necessary to complete before the baby only grows longer with each passing day. Items aren't getting crossed off. It may be that I am subconciously ignoring these tasks, much like I've found it hard to buy things for baby, in an attempt to stall the inevitable.
I want to see my son. I want to hold him. I want to get to know him. But at the same time, I know I'm at the threshold between one life and the next. There's no going back.
And have I mentioned? Labor terrifies me. My life has been generally pain free. How am I going to deal with it?
11 days to go. Doug willed the baby to come out this weekend, telling my belly that it would be a good time since he wouldn't have to miss any work. So practical. If I were him, I'd be willing the baby to come sometime in the middle of the work week, just to have a good excuse to skip work. That's me, that's him. He's a better man.
When we got married, I counted down the days with such feverish anticipation. The evening before our wedding was almost impossible to withstand. I made the mistake of going out and celebrating with too much exuberance. The next morning I was positively sick, sicker than I ever had been before--the term hang-over barely began to describe what I was going through. Poisoned, more like. I blamed it on the tap beer, thinking that it had spoiled, and I was angry that the bartender supplied us with rotten beer.
It was supposed to be the best day of my life and I vomitted more times than I had in all the years I knew him combined. I could barely drag myself from bed. I laid there, bride-to-be, cursing and wishing that we could call up everyone and tell them to just come back tomorrow to celebrate our wedding. It didn't seem fair that I couldn't change this date, set in stone, to another day where I would feel much healthier and happier and fairy tale story beautiful.
It was still the happiest day of my life, vomit and all. By 2 am, all illness was gone and I felt like how I imagined getting married would feel.
Well, baby's due date isn't set in stone. It's an estimated date, but I still count down to it much like I counted down to my wedding. There's just this facinating twist where he could come anytime between now and that day or even after. Somedays I want it to be The Day and somedays I feel much like I did September 17th, 2004: desperately wanting it to be any other day since I'm not ready. Are we ever really ready for childbirth though? It's not up to us, and probably for good reason. If it were up to me, I'd procrastinate forever.
A few nights ago, in that space right before sleep, a voice told me with all wisdom: Surrender. Surrender yourself to the process and it will happen.
I'm holding out. I can't find acceptance. I'm trying to hard to make things happen on my terms. That's not how it works. In my pregnancy community, there have been posts of soon to be mothers saying, "This and this is complete, I'm ready now." and very shortly after they've had their babies. My list of things that I find necessary to complete before the baby only grows longer with each passing day. Items aren't getting crossed off. It may be that I am subconciously ignoring these tasks, much like I've found it hard to buy things for baby, in an attempt to stall the inevitable.
I want to see my son. I want to hold him. I want to get to know him. But at the same time, I know I'm at the threshold between one life and the next. There's no going back.
And have I mentioned? Labor terrifies me. My life has been generally pain free. How am I going to deal with it?