The Rock vs. The Hard Place

Today marks an occasion (sidebar: I can never remember how many 's's or 'c's go into that word until I type it wrong). The occasion (did it again...) being the beginning of the end. Today was my last monthly prenatal visit with our midwife. From here, I go every other week until I go every week until the Big Day.

I don't know how I can feel so very torn. I literally feel two very different emotions at the exact same time; they don't alternate or have moments. I feel both of these things simultaneously, and it comes down to this: I am not ready to be a mom of two, but neither do I want to be pregnant any longer. I am so very excited to feel the first pangs of labor, to skip the part in the middle and have a beautiful blue-eyed baby boy welcomed into our little family (the image of him looking like me instead of Matthew this time brings a little joy-tear to my eye). However, things never seem to slow down around here as it is. Things that we have just begun to get into the swing of will become difficult again. For instance, Aurelia's temper tantrums. Right now, I am trying to determine how to handle her moodiness in the best way to make her into a decent human being. My goal in three months or less will be the best way to keep her quiet because the new baby is finally asleep. As I sit on the couch, exhausted, fat and dreading the moment when I have to make myself presentable to the world and go to work, I am ready to have my body back to myself. To not suffer the whims of a fetus; the emotionality, the constant hunger, the waiting until I have finally settled into a comfortable spot to lean on my bladder. As I yearn for mid-October, my thoughts do an about-face...we know what that would mean. Two babies. Two needy, crabby, selfish babies!! But it turns around again as I think of him. I say his name in my head and imagine him walking next year. I imagine bathing the two kids in a bubble-filled bathtub. I can see Aurelia kissing his forehead, her comprehension that he is her brother; this tiny person is another part of our family and she will be as happy to be with him as she is Matt and I. But then I think of how difficult it is to clean the house with just one child to wrangle. The state of every room a mere ten minutes after I have cleared the clutter.

Bottom line: I am terrified of this. It is the reason I cried my eyes out when those two pink lines appeared at 10:30pm that fateful February night. I am frustrated. I am exhausted. I am huge. But for some reason, I have a smile on my face as I think of my son.