I’m pregnant. I am super-duper preggo. My skin below my navel aches from the stretching of my abdomen, and I fear if it grows any bigger it might just rip. It’s like a huge beach ball restricting my movement, and most times it’s as tight as a drum. I frequently experience spasms of pain that jolt downward when I move, or cramps in my groin that make me pause and wince. But I’m not ready!
When I’m out with my two young children, waddling slowly with a kid on each hand, I see the stares of passerbys. Many will even comment with a pitying gaze, “bless your heart!” In fact it seems “bless your heart” is the phrase I hear most. Second only to “you look like you’re about to pop!” In those moments I’m always bombarded by images of Violet Beaureguard from Willy Wonka, and hear shrill voices in the distance yelping, “stick her with a pin; she’ll pop!”
But I’m not ready!
With my first pregnancy I was miserable. I was ready! Yes, it was a joyful experience, but it was also exhausting. And when I got to a certain point in my third trimester I was ready to have that baby already. I was ready to hold her. I was ready to dive-in head first to motherhood.
I walked, and I walked, and I walked. I ate the spicy foods old wive’s tales suggested. I tried it all. I was ready for that baby to come out!
Now here I am with my third child on the way, and though my body begs to return to normal, I am not ready at all. In fact, I find myself praying for a bit more time.
With my first pregnancy I painted the nursery. I picked out tiny, perfect outfits, and I folded them neatly in her new dresser. After I washed them in Dreft, of course.
I had boxes upon boxes of diapers, tiny shoes all in a row, and my bag for the hospital was packed and waiting eagerly in the corner. I was ready.
This week I find myself in a nesting mode, but not in an environment conducive to such. Having just moved into a new home I’m surrounded by boxes all around me, and no physical strength to carry them to where they go. Not only do I not have my bag packed for the hospital, I’m not even sure where my suitcase may be.
The crib lies in the floor of what will be the nursery in disassembled pieces, and the dresser sits empty in the corner. Not a single pink sleeper resides inside.
I’m not ready at all!
My pregnant brain craves folded baby blankets and rows of lotions and powders at my disposal, but instead I am left frantically searching for cereal bowls and my underwear. Sigh.
My mommy mind wants order, peace, tranquility prior to going through childbirth, but I find myself rounding the last weeks of my pregnancy in a disordered race against time to organize my entire home, not just a baby’s room.
I want to nest, but my nest is a mess. I do not feel ready, and I find myself begging for more time.
Though my heart is eager to meet her, and my body is more than willing to give birth, I find myself hesitant to hold her just yet. I need her in my belly just a little bit longer; at least until I can find the car seat.
Kim Hall says
oh sweetie…I’ll be right over! wait..where do you live? call in the cavalry..they will come! my first born slept in a blanket-lined drawer and survived. so will yours..really, call your friends and family 🙂 love your spirit!
Chasity says
I know whenever your darling daughter arrives, it will be in His perfect timing. Maybe everything isn’t laid out and planned perfectly, but you’ve got this, Momma!
brieann.rn@gmail.com says
Thank you!