After 39 weeks and five days, I’ve finally reached the end of this particular journey. Tomorrow, my daughter will be born and it’ll be time to start the next adventure. My mood? Highly changeable, to say the least.
I’m excited, of course. I can’t wait to finally meet this little person that we’ve created. To count her fingers and her toes. Analyze her features and try to decide who she looks most like. And maybe, just maybe, finally pick a name for her (her grandma sure would appreciate it if we did).
But, unexpectedly, I’m also a little sad. I think I’m going to miss having her all to myself. I wonder if my belly will feel strangely empty without her squirming around in there all the time…
And then it’s back to excited, for completely selfish reasons. I know I’m headed for a period of Extreme Sleep Deprivation, but when I do get some shut eye, I can sleep on my back! Or my stomach! Or hanging upside down from the ceiling, if I want!
And I’ll be able to see my toes!
And tie my shoes!
And maybe, just maybe, put on something slightly more fitted than a circus tent by the end of the summer!
All happy things. But lordy, am I nervous about the actual procedure. No matter how many people tell me that getting a C-section is the easy peasy way to have a baby, the whole surgery thing freaks me out just a little bit. And honestly? It feels like I’m cheating. Skipping out on the hard part.
But I’m sure I’ll get over that. Because, people? By this time tomorrow, I’M GOING TO BE A MOMMY. For reals. Let’s all stop and appreciate the perfect insanity of that statement (it’ll give me time to quit hyperventilating).
I think it’s time to retreat to my happy place now. The one filled with cute high-heeled shoes, chilled white wine and bloody steak.
Ahhhh, that’s better.