Tomorrow afternoon my parents arrive to help out with the baby I’m starting to believe is never coming out of my uterus. So today is the last full day we have as a family of three. This makes me pretty melancholy. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. I fully understand how lucky we are that my folks will drop their lives for weeks on end to help us out. T absolutely adores them both, and having them here is going to help smooth the transition for him from being the center of our lives to being a big brother. My mom has trouble sitting still, she’ll be cleaning, cooking, and running errands like a wild woman. I’ll be even more spoiled rotten than usual. There is not a single part of me that wishes they weren’t coming. But it always saddens me when a chapter of our life ends. I wish I was a glass-half-full gal. I’d be able to focus on the beginning in front of us. And I know the change is going to make me all of our lives richer. Hell, I want this baby as much as I’ve ever wanted anything.
Just before T was born I felt the same exact way. I mourned the loss of Z and my relationship as non-parents. The responsibility we were undertaking seemed completely overwhelming. Last night as we were bathing T he was cracking us up with his adorableness. The thought that it was our second to last bath as a family of three kept intruding on my enjoyment of him. It’s the moments when my participation in our life is hindered by the sadness that accompanies my emotional problems that really frustrate the hell out of me. As much as my shrink insists there are upsides to being excruciatingly over sensitive, anxious, pessimistic, and insecure I’d much rather not be a crazy person. Even if it made me a less empathetic individual. I mean really, how far is an abundance of empathy going to get me in this world? I’d kind of rather enjoy my current kid while being super excited about my kid on the way and not give a shit that the door is closing on one phase of life and opening on another.
So who knows when New Guy will choose to make his appearance. Today would be nice. It’s my favorite Aunt’s birthday. I’d love to have the baby share that day with her. His due date is my best friend’s son’s birthday. That would be pretty awesome as well. I’ve talked about how healing September 3rd would be (please god, don’t make me wait that long). I’m trying to be more roll with the flow and have a “he’ll get here when he gets here” attitude.
But here’s the thing. I’m fucking terrified. As T’s birth was sort of a shit show I should have listened to Z and taken a birth class or prepared in some way for this time. But I did what I usually do and ignored the thing that scares me the most. In my brain I think if I don’t acknowledge something I wont’ have to deal with it. Can you believe that line of thinking regularly backfires on me? Now that the labor part of things is imminent I am out of my god damned mind with fear. What was I thinking? I’m going into this situation as blind as I was was T. There are a few things that will make this time better, Z and I will both speak up if we feel like something is wrong, and we both completely trust my doctor to do right by me. But the pain part? When it was time to push with T I told everyone in the room I simply couldn’t do it. It hurt that bad. The pressure was so intense, I’ve just never experienced pain so acute before. I don’t do well with pain, even the little stuff. And this is in no way little. So I’ve known it is coming for nine months. What is my strategy? To not have a strategy. To probably beg for an epidural the minute I get to the hospital. To walk the line between not making a huge fool of myself and completely freaking out in front of a bunch of strangers. Hell, I am freaking out here and labor hasn’t even started. Freaking. Out. Also, I’m an idiot. Wish me luck.