One week and five days! That’s it! Well, that’s if he’s on time, which I’ve been told first children aren’t exactly notorious for arriving at the scheduled time of delivery.
Last week, I have to admit, I was a tad bitter and even jealous. One of my co-workers, who is approximately two weeks behind me, actually lost her mucus plug and found out that she was dilated one centimeter and her child was 70% effaced. I mean, really? I’m scheduled to deliver two weeks before her and she’s already that far along?!?!?!? It just seems so unfair and I spent the better part of my morning wanting to hide in the bathroom and cry at work. I reminded myself of a spoiled child that can’t seem to get her way.
So, I decided to start taking matters into my own hands by following all of those ridiculous myths we all read and hear about (and admit it, mommies, you’ve probably tried a few of them yourself) that could possibly induce labor. I went walking with my husband and my dog. I contemplated going to the hunting land with my husband and dad just because I wanted to ride the tractor in the hopes that the vibrations would jolt Davey loose. I can thank my friend, Gretchen, for that crazy idea! I’ve eaten started eating spicy food, walking seven flights of stairs at work, and if I my husband would only agree to it….having sex!
I don’t know if it’s because I can see the light at the end of the tunnel that’s making me impatient. I never thought this day would arrive and technically it hasn’t yet, but I never thought I would be this close. And as I try to envision what it will be like if and when my water breaks, I find myself a little terrified, not for the labor, but the after part.
I’ve spent the better part of these past nine months feeling pretty cool, calm, and collect (my favorite 3 C’s). I’ve made fun of other mothers who were basket cases and worry worts. I haven’t felt overwhelmed by anything and for the most part I’ve felt like I’m ready to bring Davey home. Now, I’m starting to hit that worried stage.
Things are going to be so different. No longer will it just be me and my husband, we’ll officially be a party of three. What does that mean? I’m afraid that I’ll stress too much. I’m afraid that I won’t want to be a stay-at-home mom. I’m afraid that I’ll kill myself trying to keep my previous lifestyle while incorporating baby Davey into it. And most of all, I’m afraid that I’ll never be alone.
I’m not a solitary individual by any means, but I do appreciate the occasional overnight travel my husband must take in the name of his career. I like to have a glass of wine in the evenings while taking a bubble bath and reading a book. I like my cup of coffee in the morning, well before the rest of the world is rising, as I sent in front of my computer and bang away on the keys. I’m not going to have this anymore and I’m afraid of how it will impact me.
In the end, I want my son here. I want to wrap my arms around him, to cuddle up to him, to feel his little hand grip my finger, but I worry that my fears may outweigh my excitements and that I’ll find myself in a downward spiral of overwhelming postpartum depression. Am I normal?