A book I read last night described birth as one of the most important and transformative experiences in a woman’s life. No wonder, as I stand at the brink, that I’m feeling so emotional and confused and worried and even guilty.
It all goes hand in hand with how I’m feeling physically, which is actually pretty fantastic when you consider how I might be feeling at 38 weeks (ok 37.75 weeks). But, when I stand up, I get the distinct impression that the baby’s head is dropping down into my pelvis, and I waddle. Then, there are the contractions. They come and go — not super-strong but definitely present — which is just enough to panic me (is it time? should I be timng their frequency and duration?) when they’re occurring. When they stop, I feel a mix of relief and disappointment. There’s also this “boy that cried wolf” feeling, when I have told my husband about them. Will he take me as seriously next time, I wonder, if this particular contraction session turns out to be a false alarm?
Then, there’s the baby, who, reassuringly, is as squirmy and wriggly as ever. It’s almost odd how the labor and delivery looms so large, when the real rock-our-world experience will be adding #2 to our family. In these last few days, a new candidate for a name has emerged, ironically from a kids’ TV program. Should this one stick, we’ll have a lot of funny stories about its origins. Whatever his name turns out to be, I’m beginning to feel like he’s welcome to join us anytime. I think all the physical and emotional “tuning up” has gotten me ready, even if I still have tasks to finish here and there. There’s truly a delicate balance between finishing everything up and leaving enough to do to keep me busy and feeling productive. Will keep walking that tightrope, for now.
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