Yesterday began the one month countdown to my due date.
I had my two-week check-up at the OB, and he informed me that from now on, we’d be moving to weekly visits, which is only slightly terrifying. I have a feeling that this is all going to go very fast, and I still can’t believe that in about thirty days, I will be someone’s mom.
While I was waiting in the tiny room for the doctor today, I could overhear a consultation with another patient. I didn’t want to listen, but she was speaking very loud, and I was already a bit curious about her since she seemed to be just as pregnant as me, but when she signed in at the front desk, it was clear that this was her first appointment.
Her boyfriend-maybe-husband and their son were also there, and they all seemed like rough characters, so I kept my head down and focused on my iPhone until they called my name.
First, the doctor gathered information about her about her previous pregnancies. As she listed them, he asked about specifics, like how long labor lasted and how much the babies weighed. She stumbled over their weights and had very vague details to share about the delivery of her children. So, okay, maybe she has a bad memory. But the alarming part was that for much of her conversation with the doctor, it seemed like she was providing excuses/reasons why she’d had sporadic prenatal care with this pregnancy.
I didn’t want to hear the details, but it was echoing through the hallway and bouncing around the room while I sat there silent on the table with nothing to distract me.
“I’m no doctor,” she said before explaining her situation further. I suppose she felt like her three other kids turned out just fine, so this one was bound to go the same direction.
I found the whole thing sad and terrifying. Her attitude was so vastly different from mine, and I just couldn’t identify or sympathize. I just wanted to get my appointment with and get out of there.
I’ve been a terrible blogger lately in terms of putting up new posts, and I know it.
This week is finals week, and not only am I covered in piles of midterms and final projects, but I spent three hours yesterday cleaning my office to make room for the temporary full-time person who will take my place in the fall while I’m on maternity leave.
I am exhausted.
One of the most frustrating things about being very pregnant is that my body can’t keep up with my will. I want to get a ton of things done, but it’s just not physically possible. People keep calling it “nesting,” but I detest that term and prefer to say that I’m just trying to get my house organized and my work done long before Baby Boy arrives.
Even though it feels good to vent a little, I don’t want to complain. There are worse problems than having too long of a task list. But when busy work keeps me away from my writing, I get a little grumpy.
Yet, with all of the preparation, with all of the physical changes, with all of the mental preparation, I couldn’t be more excited–and nervous–about BB’s arrival. This weekend, Mom will come over and help me organize his closet and get all his baby clothes organized and put away. It might not seem all that cool, but really, it feels good to know that it’s all coming together and that we are finally getting around to making a real space in our house and in our family for our son.
I like to think that woman at the doctor’s office yesterday was finally doing the same. I hope she looked at her little ones at home and realized that it was worth it to have someone examine her soon-to-be-newborn to be sure mom and baby were headed towards a healthy labor and delivery.
Despite the fact that it’s difficult to wrap my head around my impending motherhood, I have been able to think of little else since I saw that first positive pregnancy test. I’ve agonized over every decision, no matter how small or insignificant, and I’ve attempted to read several books (and then proceeded to get completely freaked out and overwhelmed before I stopped myself, but more on this later). I might not be perfect, and I might not be getting an A+ in pregnancy, but I can’t imagine leaving the whole thing up to fate.
I have no idea what I’m doing or where I’m headed. The only things I can control right now are which bouncy seat to buy for my baby or what color to paint the guest room. I might not be able to grasp the concept of what it means to be a mom, and I don’t know how long it will take me to get there, but I am finally coming to that place where I look around, see other women going through the same steps and think:
Maybe I am more ready for this than I know.
But just in case, let’s hope this next month goes nice and slow.