Posts these days are getting harder and harder to come by...mainly because the ONLY things going through my mind right now are "WHEN THE HELL IS THIS CHILD GOING TO GET OUT OF ME?" and "MORE CHOCOLATE MILK." Nothing else registers. I read a half a book last night and I today I couldn't even tell you the name of a single character because I wasn't paying any attention. Instead, I was willing the baby to exit the premises with my mind and playing the "is that a contraction or is that gas?" guessing game. It was gas. I can't carry on a conversation without getting winded or forgetting what I was saying mid-sentence. My mind is mush. Everyone and their freaking dog has told me to "sleep as much as possible," "eat whatever you want," and "take advantage of these last few days of freedom." And believe me, I'd love to. I want to sleep 23.5 hours a day because growing a person is exhausting. Not to mention carrying him around in your belly all day, along with 30 extra pounds of cushioning and water weight. But of course I can't sleep because I can't get comfortable, I snore so loud I wake myself up, I have to pee 45 times a night and acid reflux is a bitch. I'd love to eat whatever I want, but it comes back up a couple hours later and stays with me for so long I can't ever imagine eating again. And I can't leave the house because nothing I own fits - not even my maternity clothes (for real, I'm wearing pajamas at work today).
But here's the thing, as awful as any of this might sound, it's not. It's actually wonderful. I love waddling around my house, grunting and moaning and trying to drum up as much sympathy from my husband as possible in order to get him to rub my feet, but I promise I'm not whining or complaining about being pregnant (or even being this insanely pregnant). I wanted this. I wanted this SO BADLY. And I still do. I have loved being pregnant and I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. There are so many people that don't get this blessing; who don't get to feel their child growing and moving inside them. I am so incredibly lucky. So blessed. So happy. So willing to do whatever it takes. And SO not whining about it.
I look at my giant belly and the ridiculous number on the scale and smile. It just means that my baby is healthy and strong. I see my swollen feet and ankles and think about the person attached to the tiny little feet and ankles that are kicking me in the ribs. I can't sleep so I daydream about all the sleepless nights I will spend holding my baby and rocking him to sleep. Friends, family members and even strangers comment about how miserable I must be right now...but honestly, I'm not miserable. How can I possibly complain about my daily physical discomforts when I know that with each passing day my child is getting stronger and better equipped to handle this world. I'd happily deal with all kinds of pain if it meant that he didn't have to. The longer he stays in there, the safer he is and healthier he will be when he gets here. I can handle it. And I will...hopefully with a little grace and not too much whining.
I've been getting so many sweet emails and phone calls and comments from friends asking how I'm doing (fine), how the baby's doing (great) and when he's getting here (hell if I know...June? July?). But inevitably the next question and the one that they really want to know is "ARE YOU READY?" Physically, mentally and emotionally ready? Ready for the pain of labor, ready for the sleepless nights, ready to have my world completely rocked? And I'm more than happy to say YES! Of course, I'm ready. I'm ready to meet him, ready to hold him, ready to kiss him. Ready to comfort him when he cries, ready to make him smile, ready to be his whole world. But I've been ready for years. And I'll still be ready next week and the week after or whenever the time is right. If this child has taught me anything so far, it's that being patient and diligent pays off. It took him years to make his way to us, we can wait a few more days/weeks. In the meantime, I'll be waddling around my house in my PJs, hanging out with the dogs, drinking chocolate milk, begging my husband for a foot rub and sleeping as much as possible. And to me, that's taking full advantage of my last few days of "freedom." Who could ask for anything more? Freedom's overrated anyway, right?