Too much time to worry...

With the holidays approaching, work is starting to slow down. Multiply that by the decline in projects due to my looming maternity leave and you’ll understand that I have a little too much time to be impatient, worry about complications and generally stew about motherhood.

That means you all get the joy of reading about every thought that crosses my mind. At least I’ve put it here so you can ignore it without insulting me directly!

Patience – It is a virtue I’ve never been blessed with. I was moving along fine with the idea that it would be January before babybit arrived. I had told myself there was still a lot more waiting to be done. That was until my doctor examined me last week and said I was 80% effaced (google it if you really want to know what that means). I was so caught off guard with the idea that my body was actually progressing toward labor that I rushed through the last of my tasks to get the house baby ready. It took exactly one day. Since then, no more progression, despite all the aches, pains, Braxton Hicks (that hubs has affectionately named Braxton Millers), sore boobs and overall uncomfortableness (pretty sure that isn’t a word). Don’t get me wrong, I KNOW that first time moms typically go past their due date. I KNOW my mom and my sister both went late. I KNOW that there is NO WAY to know when you are going into labor and I keep telling myself that another couple of weeks is NOTHING compared to the 9 months of being pregnant, and the years of trying to get pregnant. But logic hasn’t taught me patience.

Complications – Hubs asked me a question the other day that has been a cloud of a thought in my own mind for months. A thought that I didn’t really want to give shape and texture to, “What if our baby has special needs or isn’t completely healthy?” Well, if you know the Hubs you know the question wasn’t that succinct, but that was the gist of the conversation. With the pending introduction to your new little one, I imagine everyone fears their bambino won’t be perfect. My response, also originally not as succinct, “I can’t worry about it, because the worrying won’t do anyone any good. We’ll handle whatever comes our way the best we can.” But of course now the question is out there. A constant worry than I can’t really ignore.

General anxiety – It is probably naive of me, but my fear of labor hasn’t been about the pain. I guess knowing an epidural is an anesthesiologist away helps put me at ease with that. My fear, grounded completely in infertility struggles, manifests around my body not doing what it is “supposed to”. The uncertainty of being able to breastfeed manifested itself into a dream where Momma T was scorning me for starving my baby. She took matters into her own hands and feed it canned cat food. SOMETHING had to be done. Of course then there is the fear that I’ll have a C-section fear if I don’t dilate. This fear is only compounded by my sister’s disappointment that result for her own labor and her painful recovery process.

But not everything is all doom and gloom of "what if things go wrong". Some of the time spent is thinking about all the cool wonders of pregnancy, like:

There are currently TWO souls in my one body – how crazy is that?

If babybit is a girl, then the eggs have already been created in her little ovaries, and I am carrying not only her but possibly my future grandchildren.

I am more proud of my stomach than I have EVER been in my life (and probably will be again). I am showing it off to anyone that will look. My skin has NEVER been this tight.

I really love feeling him/her move inside of me. I spend so much time with my hands on my belly, trying to discern the shapes of a leg or a butt that I am bordering on the obsessed.