Ground control to Major Tom

So I figure the last posts before shooting a watermelon out your nether regions (or delivery, as I have heard it called) should traditionally be whine-fests, mostly about how huge I am and how uncomfortable I am and how I would rather die than have to roll myself off the couch to pick up my 3-year-old’s sippy cup for the 14th goshdarn time…

but I won’t. (Did you see what I did there? Hahaha…devious pregnant lady, watch out). I don’t think anyone adequately explains the permeating, all-encompassing discomfort of being 38-39 weeks pregnant, but nor do I feel like it’s warranted to go into it all when all you need to do is read any other mommy blog.  I can’t complain- I am mobile, I exercise, I run after a preschooler, I teach full time…anyone who is able and willing to continue with that until they’re due should get a medal. Maybe made out of chocolate. Like five pounds of chocolate.

Yes, there is discomfort. The Braxton-Hicks are constant and not so fun. There are moments of real contractions, too, where I have to stop and breathe and try not to scream obscenities at the nice library volunteer. But the overarching feeling I have when I wake up at 2am to pee (and 3:30, and 5 and 6) is one of gratitude. The experience of pregnancy, childbirth, and parenting is (next to marriage) the only experience I have found that is, paradoxically, so rewarding and annoying, so exciting and enervating, so “I love my life” and “I want to pull my nose hairs out with pliers” at the same time. 

And yes, my instinctual reaction to it is one of gratitude. As a person of faith, the experience becomes something transcendental, something so far beyond  the me and the us, and the now.  I am conscious of the fact that this experience, though happening through me, is not happening by me. And that “opening of the hand” and letting it happen is essential, I think, to having a positive experience in what is widely regarded to be an unpleasant situation.

So everyone asks me if I’m ready. I’m not really sure what they mean when they say that. Do we have blankets, and diaper cream, and a relatively safe location in which to place the new human upon arrival? Yes. If that’s what it means to be ready, then yes, I am ready. I don’t think, however, that anyone is ever really ready for this. I think you do what you must in the situation, hoping beyond hope in the moments of quiet that you’re doing what you should, too. Hoping for mercy and enlightenment and wild love. Hoping for five pounds of chocolate, preferably the kind with toffee pieces in it.

Commencing countdown…

 

 

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