It's four in the morning.
I hate mornings. I'm not exactly up by choice, but seeing as I can't really sleep right now, the next logical thing to do is to eat a bowl of Rice Krispies and write an entry for a blog I haven't updated in months. That's my sleep-deprived, pregnant, nesting brain at its best for you. I'm scheduled to be induced in less than twenty-four hours, and I've decided that, along with cleaning out my fridge, scrubbing my bathroom, and dusting the far reaches of my house that nobody--least of all, our impending child--cares about, I should also write a blog.
Blergh.
I'm scheduled to have a baby in less than twenty-four hours.
It's this late in the game that I'm wondering if I've suffered from birth trauma. And I wonder if I've occasionally been having minor panic attacks. At this point, I've analyzed ALL of my weirdo behaviors and begun to question if maybe those times when I couldn't decipher whether I was hungry, thirsty, needed more oxygen, needed to go to the bathroom, was sick and going to puke, or whether I was just running out of space in my body were symptoms of something more than a normal pregnancy. Not that my first experience giving birth was extra horrible, or anything. I just think birth is a traumatic thing, and for some reason, I'm now realizing that it affected me in a somewhat rough manner, whether or not there's a diagnosis for me.
Of course, there comes a time when we have to set aside blame and accept that we've got to move on, regardless of excuses and diagnoses, however silly or legitimate they may be. When all is said and done, I'm still having a baby. Soon. And while I can rationalize my fears, look for ways to cope with them, try and ignore them, and pretend to put them off, I'm going to have to deal with them.
You know that for all my preparation, I haven't packed a bag yet? I've washed my shower curtain and the rugs in my house, but I haven't packed a bag or put the baby's car seat in the car. You know why?
Yeah, I don't, either.
But I've theorized. (It's four in the morning. Not even close to my first "four-in-the-morning" of this pregnancy. Of course I've theorized!)
This sounds silly. Read this at four in the morning . . . and it will still seem silly. Read this at four in the morning the day before you're about to have a baby. Then, and only then, will it begin to possibly, maybe make sense to you: If I pack the bags and put the seat in the car, I will be "ready" to have this baby. I'm not anywhere near "ready" to have this baby; therefore, I can neither pack the bags, nor place the seat in the car. It is this convoluted logic that has prompted me to construct one of the most comprehensive "TO DO:" lists of my life. I've crossed so many things off that list--"Change quilt on the bed" and "Trim toenails"--and still I can't pack a bag. I've added and crossed some items off the list: "Wash screen door window" and "Get bangs trimmed," and yet, the car seat sits in the back room until tomorrow.
I don't need a lecture on how babies come when they come, and these things should have been done a month ago, and what would happen if I went into labor before now? (The answer: I'd muddle my way through, it might get tense, but in the end, we'd survive--much like childbirth.) I don't even need someone to come to my house and do it for me. What I need is to accept that THIS IS HAPPENING. I'm not ever going to be truly ready. Some things will probably go well. Some things probably won't. But they'll go, they'll be done, and these details will be dwarfed by a much larger accomplishment and a new challenge.
I know I've done this before. Well-meaning individuals tell me this like it should quell my fears. They fail to account for the fact that at this point in my pregnancy, logic does not compute. I mean, I put it together in my head and then try and convert it from knowledge to peace of mind, and I get nothing. I know that I've done it before. That's part of what baffles me. With my first, I walked in calm enough the nurses said, "Honey, you're not in labor," then checked me and said "Oh! You're at an eight!" That doesn't change the fact that the closer I've gotten, the more vividly I've recalled the details and lay paralyzed by the fear of reliving them.
I've gotten through a day at a time. It's just that this next day is going to be a doozy.
Prayer helps, I think, for me. I mean, this has provided me with a classic example of exactly how the Bible Dictionary defines prayer: "The act by which the will of the Father and the will of the child are brought into correspondence with each other. . . . Blessings require some work or effort on our part before we can obtain them."
Yep. I haven't completely lost my anxieties. But I haven't died of hyperventilation yet, either. (Please, especially if you suffer from anxiety, panic attacks, etc., don't see this as flippant. I know it's a bit unrefined; I'm still working it out. Just understand that this is my way of dealing with my own experiences . . . somewhat . . . flippantly. *Sigh.* Sorry.)
But honestly, as days pass, I sense myself becoming more and more okay with things. All things. I add fewer things to my list. (Which could be that I'm accepting my house and all its faults, or that I've started to run out of things to do. Or maybe, a happy marriage of both.) I think I feel less need to distract myself from my impending doom. I did finally pull the car seat out of storage today, and I piled together all the things that Melody will need when she goes to grandma's. I still sort of see my life, like my one month calendar, ending with June, but I catch glimpses of the possibility of July. I'm not quite to the "It's the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine," position, but I have at least been willing to concede the "as we know it."
So, tomorrow/Friday--which my scrambled brain has informed me is, indeed tomorrow, so my clarification is redundant (sorry, for some reason I thought they were different? Gotta get some sleep!)--I will pack my bags. I will put the car seat in the car, and I will have this baby. Not because I'm "ready" ("You see the quotations I'm making with my little claw hands?") and finally finished my "To Do:" list, but because I'm "ready" and I think I'm gonna make it through this, and really, what other option do I have? Then the world will continue on, and I still probably won't be able to sleep. Ain't life a kick in the head?
Write a blog post: Check!
