During quiet time yesterday, I laid on our bed with wet hair after a shower and called my Mom to announce, "Ugh, I just feel done."
Pregnancy seems deliberately just a little bit too long. Like that final month is the really in place just to get the Mom mentally prepared to choose the alternative of being pregnant; getting the baby out, raising a newborn; zombie-level exhaustion. Right now, I want that.
After nearly 38 weeks of growing a human, I want control back over my own body. I want to meet this girl, I want to completely disrupt our life as we know it to make room for this new person who will make us all very in love and very, very tired.
The problem with the waiting is that I'm a planner. I make checklists, and countdowns, and mark off calendar dates - and although technically I have a "date" to cling to for dear life - everyone knows that it's more unlikely for your child to actually be born on that date than not.
So in these final weeks, I experience this horribly hopeless rollercoaster of excitement with the slightest feeling of off-ness. Is this it? Maybe this is the start of it! And then minutes or hours later, the feeling is gone and hope has now been replaced with frustration and impatience.
Meanwhile, I keep reminding myself that I need to focus on the due date; still another 15 days away. I know I need to focus on mentally making the distance, and yet, I cannot push down this endless reserve of hope that she'll come sooner; both so I can finally see her sweet face and also not be pregnant again(..for awhile at least).
|selfie found on my phone|
Although that means I'm being super productive, it still only gives off a minimal sense of accomplishment. I want this baby out of my body and in my arms. Period. No amount of items checked off my to do lists compare to that goal and it's entirely exhausting and frustrating.
After my phone pity party with my Mom yesterday (thanks for the chat, Mum!) I contemplated for a full two minutes a way to occupy the kids while I just spent the rest of the afternoon laying around feeling miserable, and then metaphorically brushed myself off and go to work. If I'm being honest with myself; laying around almost never makes me feel better, and the fastest way to feeling better (at least for me) is to get items checked off lists. (and let's be honest - I'm a little hopeful it will somehow inspire labor to start - we've all read the stories about women who get the urge to clean and then go into labor, blah blah blah).
So I changed all the bed sheets, and made dinner, and baked blueberry pie, and worked on pages for our upcoming new board book (!) for The Hunting Daddies, and vacuumed the downstairs, and enlisted Brandon and the kids in bathing the dogs.
Last night after baths and while the kids were getting settled into bed, I sat in the rocking chair feeling grateful for the final weeks of two. Gem has completely changed in the past few weeks into a full blown little girl, cracking us up with the little thoughts and behaviors she blesses us with regularly. Grey has stepped us his helpfulness in the sweetest way and shown so much patience with his sister.
I know these last few weeks have purpose: for our baby to get her lungs strong and put on some extra plumpness. For our current two kids to get used to me being distracted and for them to practice learning to play together independently and figure out their own forms of conflict resolution. For more items on our to do lists to get check off while we have the time and energy now. For my mind and spirit to be mentally ready (anticipating with joy actually!) do to the impossible task of getting this girl into the world.
And despite knowing all this...at the end of the day, she is still in there and we are still without her out here. And that is endlessly frustrating at this stage of the game.