The Waiting Game

Imagine you are going to have to saw your own arm off, except you don’t know exactly when it will happen, and people keep telling you everything will be OK, but to drink lots of water. This is where I’m at.

There’s something about the last two weeks of pregnancy that does something to you mentally. Physically it’s painful and uncomfortable, but if left alone in your own head you will most definitely start imagining 14 pound newborns and the teenage anesthesiologist claiming to be out of epidurals. Even dreams don’t provide any relief because that’s when you give birth to twin boys who can’t stop screaming, so when you finally wake up to search for them in your bed you see one confused husband and two sleepy dogs.

Besides some sort of magical Buddha that says, your baby will be born on this day at this time; all you really want is your OBGYN velcroed to you at all times, constantly repeating, “That’s normal”. I’ve set up my very own personal block to WebMD and unfortunately the one number we are allowed to dial at this point is Labor and Delivery. Ironically, this is the only time during the pregnancy when they throw caution to the wind and don't tell you to come in unless your baby is almost crowning.

It’s important to remind yourself that none of this is logical. There is an entirely formed human being camping out inside my watermelon sized uterus just waiting to call me, “Mom”. I’m the only person that can complete this task and thankfully I have my very own cheerleading squad of family and friends: we are having T-shirts made. It feels good that everyone has confidence in my abilities, and in the moments I’m not having contractions or I forget what’s about to happen, I too feel very capable. So here is the good news: this uncertainty, fear, and bowel-shaking panic sets the stage perfectly for what's to come in parenthood. 

What it's all for.