Bloggies, I have been terribly bad about blogging. I'm so sorry...I can't really even blame any one reason. Oh wait, yes I can.
I'm in complete denial about this baby. No, seriously. Total, absolute denial.
I'm hoping I'm not the only one who has experienced this. I'm thinking perhaps it's a side effect of being an infertile for so long? I got so used to the idea that a baby was never coming, and now that I'm less than 2 weeks away from him being here, it's almost like I won't allow myself to believe it. This has manifested itself in many ways. Ways that are not helpful to me, Hubs, or the impending child. They are:
1. I'm not taking very good care of myself. I'm working harder than I've ever worked, traveling more than I've ever traveled and basically pretending that this giant belly of mine isn't really there. I sleep on my back when I'm not supposed to because, dammit, that's what I want to do. I pick up heavy objects that I'm not supposed to because, dammit, that's what I want to do. I'm basically pretending I'm not pregnant.
2. I'm not signing up for classes. Of any kind. I was advised to sign up for Breastfeeding class around 30 weeks and Child birthing class no later than week 25.
I'm at week 37.5.
I finally made myself sign up for both. The breastfeeding class put me to sleep and my childbirth class is literally one week before my due date. So there's that.
3. I'm not nesting. Is there an opposite word for nesting? Like maybe "lazying"? Instead of folding baby clothes and organizing baby books, I'm instead watching hours of "The Good Wife" on the weekends to avoid thinking about it. I don't want to shop for diapers or baby shampoo. I don't want to think about any of it.
4. I'm not talking about him. At all. When someone brings up "oh, you're getting so close" I say "Yep - hey, did you watch that one episode of The Good Wife?" and people look at me like I'm a martian. My parents and Hubs' parents called last week to ask what the plan is for if I go into labor and we need someone to pick up Hubs' daughters from school. My response was literally, "I don't know. We'll figure it out."
5. I'm turning down opportunities to get my progress checked. Today the doc asked if I wanted to have my cervix checked to see if things have started happening. I told him no. I don't want to know.
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I've been thinking about this all day today and I've come up with another possibility about why I'm so detached about this.
It's because I'm terrified.
I am not good with pain and discomfort. I call it having a low tolerance for pain - Hubs calls it being a pussy. Call it what you want, but I am scared. When I was 21, I had my first cavity and they had to shoot my tooth up 4 times with Novocaine. After the cavity, the dentist laughed and told me most people have cavities of this size filled with zero medicine.
So yeah, maybe a pussy is the right word for it.
Regardless, I feel no shame in admitting that I'm a wimp. It's just who I am. And everyone keeps reminding me "there's the epidural, there's the epidural." Well yeah, but you know what has to happen BEFORE I can have an epidural?
Contractions. Lots of them. Contractions = pain.
Unfortunately, the fear of the unknown is really keeping me from enjoying these last few weeks before little man arrives. And that's a huge bummer. I know I can't control what happens, but I've heard so many horrors stories about epidurals not working, or only working on one side or spinal headaches after birth and near death experiences. It's all I really think about, rather than focusing on the absolute miracle that will be joining us in less than 20 days (if he's on time).
I don't want to think this way. I want to think about the amazing baby that's rolling around inside me (by the way, it's super annoying when I'm trying to sleep). I wanted this SO BADLY for 4 years, and now that it's here...I'm not quite sure I'm ready.
So I'm scared. And panicked. And nervous. And jittery. And fat.
It's not a good combo.
But I do take comfort in knowing that there's no getting off the roller coaster, no matter how much or little it may hurt for a little bit. At the end of the pain will be my son. At the end of the pushing and heavy breathing and epidurals and placenta passing and whatever else happens, I will be a mother. I will have in my arms the one thing that I have wanted for so, so long.
And it will all be worth it.
XOXO, friends.
