Friday, September 21, 2012

On Not Being Patient.


photo-136 photo-135

I am not the most patient person.

I mean, I wish I was. I wish I were someone who always drank in the moment. More specifically, I wish I had the capability of telling my mind to shut up on command, but I'm actually quite the reverse. If I tell my mind "shut up!", my mind goes crazy. There is always something to think about and, right now, all I think about is pregnancy (also what I will wear after pregnancy). Yesterday I became the most pregnant I have ever been. I delivered Max when I was thirty-seven weeks pregnant. I am now thirty-seven weeks and two days pregnant. I have gained forty-three pounds. I'm on bed rest. I'm tired and I'm grumpy and, when I wake up in the morning, I cry for ten minutes, sulk for an hour or so, and then put on my big girl pants (err... elastic waist, oversized gym shorts?) and move to the couch, regardless of whether or not I've combed my hair that morning.

Frankly, I'm a little surprised I'm still pregnant. I had an ultrasound a little less than two weeks ago because I was measuring quite a bit ahead and, when Henry was measured, several of his body parts (thighs included) were measuring at forty-one weeks. Overall, he was measuring two days shy of thirty-nine weeks and his estimated weight was slightly higher than the average weight of most newborns. I know this doesn't mean much and that ultrasounds are often incorrect, but this whole pregnancy I had a gut feeling that I would deliver early and my ultrasound last week validated my feelings. I woke up with an extremely swollen body earlier this week and, because of my complications with Max, have spent three out of the past six days in the doctor's office and the hospital. Everything turned out to be alright, which I'm happy about, but now whenever my phone rings, I feel like saying "I don't want to talk about it!" to whoever is on the other line.

Because who knows? My body feels like it will give out at any minute, but I think I just assumed too much- that I would always have early babies because my first baby was early- and those assumptions now have me biting my nails. I'm ready for this phase of my life to be over. I'm ready to have a new baby and I'm ready to get back to being an active mom instead of one who sits around all day and I'm really done being a mom who sits around all day and bursts into quick, intense crying jags at random times because I hurt and I'm exhausted.

And I know this post sounds pretty whiney, but I really am just happy that I'm pregnant. I say "thank you" a thousand times a day for the opportunity we have to bring another baby into our family and, truthfully, I want him to stay on the inside as long as he needs to. I want him to be healthy and I want him to come out when he's ready. I want what's best for him and what's best for our family. I am just so excited and anxious with excitement that I can barely stand this part! I am not patient and, as much as I remind myself to slow down and enjoy this while I can- maybe I will never be pregnant again and maybe Henry will be an extremely difficult baby and, my soul, can't I enjoy having Max to myself a little longer?!- I just keep doing an inward dance of anticipation waiting for my newest little man to come into my life.

I am so, so ready. And if he doesn't come in the next thirteen days?
Well, I guess I'll just be even more ready when he does come.