And I'm going to admit something very embarrassing:
I once judged people for getting impatient with their pregnancies without ever knowing what "this" feels like.
("This" being VERY pregnant, and very tired, and a day or two past the "big day" when I hoped I would be enjoying my baby by...)
While pregnant with Kortland, I read A LOT of books about natural birth.
(Like, we're talking A LOT)
I learned a lot about the importance of PATIENCE.
I learned that babies should be permitted to come when they're good and ready.
I learned that their brains send the appropriate signals to put the mother into labor when (and ONLY when) the brain and lungs have completely finished developing.
I remember reading all of this and saying to myself:
"What on earth are SOME women thinking?! Why would they induce labor early and CHEAT their unborn child of the precious time they need to finish developing?!"
(See? Judgmental. Boo, Lola, boo! What do you know?)
Then we had a big, fat hiccup in my birth plan.
Kortland's cord was failing.
He was losing weight.
The placenta was dying,
and once it did, my baby would die too.
We had to get him out.
So, when this was discovered at my 39 week check up,
I cried,
freaked out a little,
called the hubs (who was over 4 hours away on a business trip)
and freaked him out a little.
Then I called my mom and...
well, in awesome mom fashion, she did not freak out,
instead, she calmed me down,
pep talked me up,
and made me feel like I could face this head on.
Then, The hubs (aka my rock) got home late that night,
gave me a wonderful blessing,
and I felt like things would be even MORE alright.
And bright and early the next morning, we induced,
and the next thing we knew,
our little man was here.
Safe,
sound,
and so, SO small.
(A crummy umbilical cord'll do that to a kid.)
So, that was my first experience.
I never got to my due date. In fact, I enjoyed an amazingly wonderful (and very distracting) family vacation at Aspen Grove during my entire 38th week of pregnancy, then had my baby two days later. I didn't have to wait. I didn't have to lie in bed all night and become increasingly exhausted yet unable to sleep while my uterus trained for the "obnoxious, unchanging, and sort of pointless contraction world championships" and I didn't have to see my due date come...and then go...and have nothing to show for it. I never knew how that felt. (FYI: it sort of stinks.)
Also, it should be said that while I was pregnant with Kort:
I was not sick.
I had NO back problems.
I never had swelling issues.
I never had lung crushing, rib kicking discomfort.
I did not become severely anemic.
The list goes on.
Also, it should be said that while pregnant with Baby Bob:
I. have. had. all. of. the. above...
(plus a few I have probably blocked from memory.)
I never understood women who were crazy-eager/impatient to have their babies...until now.
Now, I get it!
Got it.
Gotcha.
Bingo!
Click.
Ah ha.
There it is.
I am tired. I am uncomfortable. I am sickly, and weak, and hormonal, and tired of having to eat every hour on the hour. But more than any of this, I just want to meet this delicious, beautiful little person!!! I have waited so long! I want to SEE him! I want to hold him! I want to smell him! I want to kiss his little face and then pass him around the room to all of the loving, smiling, supportive people in my life and say "Lookie what we made!!!!!"
I totally feel like a child waiting for Christmas...only on Groundhog's Day (you know, of the Bill Murray variety). But I'm not waiting for a Barbie Dream House to show up in my living room, I'm waiting for something so much better. Something that I've prayed, and cried, and waited for. Something that will never end up dusty, forgotten, and shoved under my bed, or out on the lawn at a yard sale 10 years down the road. (At least, one should HOPE not... hello, DCFS? ;) Something that holds the promise of everlasting joy, and growth, and stretching, and laughter, and tears all in one yummy little bundle.
My mind keeps replaying that first night I spent with Kort in the hospital. The last, loving family member made their way out of the hospital, and we were all alone. I dozed off just after midnight, and awoke around 2:00 a.m. to find big, dark eyes studying me. And I just cried. And cooed. And loved, loved, loved on that angelic little boy. It was undoubtedly the most surreal, and special time of my life. Who WOULDN'T be chompin' at the bit to do it all again? I'm clearly going nutty.
So, there it is.
I'm excited.
I'm impatient.
I am still savoring every last moment of this time.
I still smile when he kicks and turns inside of me.
I talk to him,
and sing to him,
and tell him that his mom loves him more than he will ever be able to understand.
I am remembering to be grateful that after 5 long years, my body FINALLY figured out how to do this again.
I am remembering to remember not to take a single tired, swollen, sore, hormonal, miraculous moment for granted.
I'm trying to be patient, and keep perspective.
Most of all, I'm reminding myself (pretty much constantly) that this sweet little boy has his own journey, and his own purposes completely separate from my own, and that I am merely the vessel that has been blessed to carry him, and the VERY fortunate mother who gets to spend her life loving him and supporting his development into the person that he came here to be.
But I'm also just taking a moment to "out" myself and say:
This is hard.
And I didn't "get it" before...
But I sure "get it" now!
But, in my defense, who wouldn't get excited about meeting their next jammie-clad- ski-boot-wearing-nose-picker, really? Who?
Answer: No one.
So today, I am owning some of my personal junk and publicly outing myself for being a judgmental little turd sometimes. ;)
What are you doing today?
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