This post is going to sound a little crazy, but it's the truth, and I've always promised I'd write the truth, so here it goes.
I am not ready to have this baby. Of course, my 35-week belly loudly disagrees, but my mind and heart feel uneasy. Today, my stomach poked out the bottom of my maternity shirt, reminding me that the time is close, very close. And instead of feeling elated, I felt panicked. I sat watching my girls play well together, and I realized that our current reality is about to take a dramatic twist. Who has a baby at the end of the school year? Who has a baby when she already has a baby? Who?! What was I thinking?!
Of course, as I wrote months ago, this pregnancy was not planned so I wasn't really thinking about the timing of anything when I saw the double pink lines appear on that pregnancy test. I just tried to take the news in stride, reacting to the terrible morning sickness, relentless headaches, and constant infections as they came one by one, and sometimes two by two. I'm fairly confident that I shared with you awhile back that my body has negative reactions to all birth control. You may not believe me, but I have seen enough OBs at this point to know that I'm not crazy, and that the only way I could prevent pregnancy was through natural planning, which I happen to be terrible at because my ovulation is about as wonky as the oompa loompas in Willy Wonka's chocolate factory.
So having a 5th child wasn't something we had necessarily ruled out, but we hadn't ruled it in, and even though I've had 8 months to wrap my head around this pregnancy and almost baby, I haven't quite gotten there. And it makes me feel terrible. Disconnected if you will. Of course the moment I see the baby, I will love him and feel like he was always supposed to be with us, but at the moment, I'm scared to death. I have no idea what I will do when I bring him home after those two days at the hospital. Birdie's going to lose her mind, thus causing me to lose mind. Elle will beg me for learning time daily while my body begs me for a nap (oh wait...that already happens. ;)). And Genevieve and Mya will cope with things in the best way they know how--by giving me tons of attitude, followed by lots of apologies and hugs.
I'm scared. That's the truth. Life is going to be grueling for a solid six months. I'm probably going to sink more than I swim. I realize that. Tim does too. He's preparing for it; I can tell. But come Christmas time, I hope to be somewhat sane again. Will someone check in on me around then just to make sure I'm still breathing? Please and thank you. Wish us luck.