Sometimes I can’t believe I’m about to have a baby.
Don’t get me wrong, I am HUGE right now. Due to go into labour at any moment really. My hips hurt, my pelvic bone hurts, my lower back hurts. I’m hungry, but can’t fit much more than a snack inside my squeezed stomach at the moment. I have heartburn. I can’t sleep at night and I’m tired during the day.
So I understand that I am nine months pregnant, and that means I’ll be having a baby shortly. But most days, it just seems like I will be pregnant forever. Haven’t I always had a hard time pulling myself off of the couch? Haven’t I always had to pee like every hour? You mean there was a time that my stomach didn’t do strange contortions? A time I didn’t get to gently push back against a small foot stretched out tight beneath my skin?
Is this baby really going to come out? Am I really going to meet a whole new person? Who will this little person be? (I hope they know their name when they come out, because we still haven’t made a firm decision ourselves.) Am I really going to labour and give birth again? That day looms ahead in my mind, with a strange mixture of anticipation and dread.
Memories of pain and childbirth fade, but not that much. The moments of fear in the early part of labour, realizing that this is for real and wondering how it will go. Losing the fear and getting down to the business of breathing and trying to relax clenched muscles. Feeling overwhelmed by the intensity and frequency and just wanting it to be over. The incredible pressure as the baby moves down. And that moment of empowerment and relief when there is suddenly one more person in the room, and you pull your baby into your arms.