A huge part of me is SO excited not to be pregnant anymore. I can't wait to eat a tuna sandwich and wash it down with a huge glass of Pinot Noir. I can't wait to be able to turn over in bed without having to physically carry my stomach with my hands, and to be able to, eventually, even sleep on my stomach again (heaven). I can't wait to be able to take real medications again (I am currently suffering through a sinus infection on saline drops alone). I can't wait to stop spending way too much time in my OB's waiting room, to be able to lift up my kids again, and to fit into normal clothes.
But at the same time, I'm so not READY! From a practical standpoint, I'm getting there. The nursery is almost prepared, the clothes are washed and folded, I have started gathering things for the "hospital bag," and last weekend I cleaned our linen closet (as part of my obsessive nesting/organizing kick). The boys have settled into their shared room, and last weekend they went on a sibling hospital tour. I have typed out a list of babysitters and friends to call in the middle of the night. The family is on standby, awaiting the call.
But from an emotional standpoint.... are you ever really ready?
I've done this twice before. And both times, when the baby came out, my first reaction was "Holy Shit!" I think I actually said it out loud the first time. You can spend nine months with a baby inside of you, you can prepare your house, you can know with every fiber of your being that your world is about to change. But there's something about seeing that baby for the first time that is so surreal - like an out of body experience. It's almost as if you can't believe that it has been a baby inside you all along, and that the baby is actually real - actually here.
It's an amazing feeling.
I know it's coming, and I know what's to follow. And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't petrified.
So lets be clear - I am petrified.
I am petrified of the delivery. Of being in pain. Of something going wrong. Of delivering the baby on my bathroom floor (this is a fear unique to this pregnancy for some reason). Of no one being able to come and watch my kids and of having to cart them with me to the hospital and then have them be forever scarred by having to witness their mom scream in pain and then have a baby fall out of her.
I am petrified of the recovery. Of being in pain. Of having some weird complication or getting some rare hospital bacteria. Of going from pregnant to obese overnight (somehow it's acceptable to have an almond croissant every morning during pregnancy, not so much in normal life). Of hemorrhoids. Of stitches. Of sleepless nights. Of getting PPD again. Of medications I may or may not need to take.
I am petrified of having three children. Of whether or not I can actually handle it. Of whether I will be able to balance it with the small workload that I have, or with other opportunities to come. Of how I'll manage schedules and school pick-ups and three car seats along a single row in our mini-van. I'm petrified as to how I will divide my time among the kids, how I will breastfeed and make dinner at the same time, how we will be able to afford camp and possibly private school and bikes and activities for three active boys. Of if we'll ever be able to move out of this house and if I'll ever have my own bathroom that is not saturated with male urine.
I'm petrified of this change. This really, really big change.
I've had nearly nine months to prepare for this baby, and here, so close to the finish line, I am filled with excitement, but also pure fear. The fact is, I really can't picture what my life, in one short month, will look like. I can't picture who this new little boy will be.
Who will he be?