a year from now, take two.

A year ago today, I wrote a post about daydreams coming true, about how my hopes were starting to manifest and become real life. It felt precarious, so I felt wary, wondering whether or not I should actually believe it was all happening. 

So I'm back to tell myself, from today's vantage point, to believe it, baby.

I am fully enmeshed in this dream life I didn't even know I could wish for. Naturally, because it's me, my anxiety is sitting right next to me, leaning in to read my words and warning me that if I write about how happy I am, that happiness is automatically doomed to disappear. 

But what's taken me so long to learn (what I'm still learning) is that happiness isn't solely dependent on circumstances. I'm not sure how my happiness would fare in the face of illness and death and despair, but does it help to worry about that right now? Or is it better to practice gratitude for all that's real and true? Whatever the vehicle for my current happiness is - luck, hard work, big choices, prioritizing, randomness - what matters is that it's here right now. And instead of caving to my anxiety, who's shaking its head and clucking that posting this is a karmic strike against me, I'm going to indulge in a little exercise. 


According to my blog, here's how January 25, 2016, rolled along. 

• My two-year-old woke up at her new-normal time of 7:15 (not 5:00!) and chattered in her crib for awhile.
• I kissed my husband goodbye as he headed out for a job that didn't exist in January 2015.
• I had a debate with my sweet girl about semantics...which kinda blew my mind. [I remember this - it was when we argued whether I was wiping the counter up or down, never mind off.]
• Rowan and I went to story time at the library, where she was one of the "big kids."
• At the library, I met up with a friend to drop off three paintings I made for her kids.
• I spent nap time applying to a preschool for Rowan; commiserating with my mom group friends about toddler drama; and accepting a writing position with a local organization that I totally loved and admired.
• While Rowan was at Grandma's house in the afternoon, I swung by the post office to mail off another painting order.
• And I listened to an NPR segment about the frontrunner for the Republican Presidential nomination, who was...wait for it...Donald Trump.
• At 8:45 that night, while I was trying to finish a blog post (for the blog that I actually updated regularly!), I had to go upstairs to tuck my daughter back in, because she was still awake and her pillow was "too high."

It was an unremarkable day, ordinary and pleasant - and completely unbelievable to me circa January 2015. I couldn't believe that I'd been hired as a writer, that I was running an Etsy shop, that my baby was such a kid, that life was so...easy. Not that it wasn't hard at times. I mentioned parenting issues, deep worries, ongoing grief. But my day-to-day existence was exactly what I always wanted. Not only was it not a constant, crushing struggle, but it was enjoyable. Easy.

And so I dared to dream some more. I dared to imagine what today would be like, January 25, 2017. Bear in mind that a lot of these bullets really felt a little silly - like, how could these things possibly become my life? 

Here's what I dreamed, a year ago today, in comparison to how today actually went:

• Your three-year-old will sleep past 7:30, which is great, because you're due with Baby No. 2 soon, and you need all the sleep you can get.
• Well, we woke her up at 7:00, which is the best way to ensure that we all get work/school on time.
• You'll kiss your husband goodbye as he heads out for the job that he still can't believe he gets to go to.
• Yep.
• You'll have a debate with your sweet girl about hurrying up on the potty.
• Yep.
• You'll drop Rowan off at her co-op preschool, and you'll head back home to do some quick chores. And, let's be real, to spend some quality time with Netflix.
• Usually, yes, although today I accompanied her on a preschool field trip, which was super fun. Monday was exactly that, though: I ran some errands, worked on a painting at home, and prepped some quinoa and veggies for later before going to pick Rowan up.
• You'll spend afternoon nap time counting your lucky stars that your three-year-old naps at all...and getting some work done. You have writing deadlines coming up and blog sponsors to respond to.
• Yes and no. Yes, she still typically naps (and she puts herself to sleep, as opposed to me having to rock/walk her to sleep). But there are no deadlines or sponsors to deal with for now. I'm actually kinda cool with that - there are enough other irons in the fire for now.
• While Rowan is at Grandma's house in the afternoon, you'll run some baby-related errands. You'll spot an adorable newborn outfit and you won't feel guilty dropping $20 on it, because you're no longer needing to pinch every single solitary penny.
• Ha! Oh yes. Rowan is heading to Grandma's later this afternoon - for dinner...and a sleepover...and a trip to Chuck E. Cheese tomorrow morning. YAAASSS. I probably won't run any baby errands while she's at Grandma's, but the fact is that if I stumbled on the perfect newborn outfit? I might just buy it. We're still pinching pennies, don't get me wrong. Just not every single one.
• And you'll listen to an NPR segment about President Sanders's new student loan forgiveness policy. Hooray, you qualify!
• Okay, swing and a miss on this one.
• At 8:45 that night, Rowan will be long asleep, and you'll be finishing some more work (from the couch, natch). Funny how you spend just as much time writing/working as you did in January 2016, but that now you're making a respectable living from it!
• Essentially, yes. At 8:45 tonight, I'll be just getting home from my last Mindfulness in Parenting class, which I've been taking with some friends since September. Rowan may or may not be asleep at that point, but I don't really care, since she'll be at Grandma's! I'll come home and hang out with J.J., go to bed, and sleep alllll night.

********************

I wasn't that far off from what I predicted, right? I mean, aside from the whole "President Sanders" thing. Polar opposite on that one. Otherwise? Pregnant. Potty-trained preschooler. Pinching fewer pennies. Alone time with J.J.

It's everything I ever wanted. (Again, aside from the United States crumbling to its death under the weight of pipelines and walls.)

So...how about next year? January 2018? Care to dream?

• Your seven-month-old will wake up a little before 7:00, which is pretty typical. He mostly sleeps through the night, though not always. You'll snuggle in bed and nurse, which has been unbelievably easy this time around. Boob, bottle, breast milk, formula - he's not picky, just feed him. He won't wake up your four-year-old with his coos and giggles (seriously, happiest and most easygoing baby EVER), but your husband will wake her up anyway because it's a school day for her.
• You'll kiss your husband goodbye as he heads out for the job he still can't believe he gets to go to. It blew UP this past year, in the best way possible, and there's still so much more potential.
• You'll drop your daughter off at her beloved co-op preschool. You'll run a couple errands, and the baby will fall asleep in the car on the way back home. You'll bring his car seat inside and work on a few Etsy orders while he sleeps (or...you'll just nap, too. Either way).
• You'll manage to sync the baby's afternoon nap with Rowan's "rest time," where she sometimes sleeps but mostly just chills and looks at books. You'll just be glad for some non-contact time, so you'll catch up on Facebook and blogs for awhile.
• Grandma will take BOTH kids that afternoon, which is perfect because you'll have a consulting appointment at a child care center, which you'll be doing once or twice a week. Pennies are a wholllllllllle lot looser these days, which feels amazing.
• And you'll listen to an NPR segment about how President Pence's cabinet is shaping up as the nation tries to recover from the Trump debacle. [I mean, the thought of President Pence is scary, too, but not quite as terrifying as Trump already is.]
• At 8:45 that night, the kids will be asleep. You'll be relaxing with your husband, working on a blog post, and reflecting on how this entire day was last year's dream come true.

********************

Instead of being scared to dream at all, now I'm wondering if I'm not dreaming big enough, if I'm not taking big enough leaps.

Maybe that's the best part of all of this - beyond the day-to-day happenings, I'm finding myself mostly in a state of equanimity. Which, by the way, is the opposite of anxiety, answering a question I posed awhile ago.

But more on that another time.

and then there were four.

And now for the news that I've been meaning to share for weeks, but have been too busy to actually write a post about!

I'm too lazy/technologically inept to size that photo correctly, but here's the sign a little closer up:

(thanks to my wonderful friend Tanya for taking these pics!!!)

YAY!! I'm thirteen weeks tomorrow, so we're due in June (which is what it says inside that heart up there). Crazy crazy crazy. Oh, and the other reason I haven't mentioned anything here yet is that I have been epically, horrifically, almost constantly sick. It was NEVER like this during my first pregnancy. I mean, I felt nauseated a lot of the time, and definitely exhausted, but this is next-level sick. Part of me feels like I shouldn't complain because I haven't actually been actively puking; I just feel like I'm going to about 90% of my waking hours. And even worse than the nausea is the heartburn, which is present most days and wakes me up some nights. It's not a burning sensation - it's this weird feeling like my throat is full with a huge lump. Which, of course, makes me want to puke.

Now that I'm closing in on the end of the first trimester, I'm starting to have more good days than bad, but it's been rough. I think part of the reason it's been so much harder is that I can't escape when I feel terrible. Yes, I can have J.J. or my mother-in-law be with Rowan (and trust me, they have been), but sometimes that's not an option. There's been a whole lotta Daniel Tiger up in here lately. And during my first pregnancy, I could retreat to my office while I was at work and just sort of feel miserable by myself, or I could call in sick if I felt truly awful (although I don't think I ever felt bad enough to do that). Not only do I have no office to hide in now, but I can't call in when I have work outside the home - I just have to go to my consulting appointments and article interviews. It's all worked out, obviously, but I was struggling for a couple months there.

And as for the big sister?

She's oblivious for now! We haven't told Rowan yet, but we will soon. Nine months is a long time for a three-year-old to wait - or, more accurately, for me to field a three-year-old's constant questions about whether the baby is here yet. I know she'll be excited, though, considering she's literally been asking for a baby for a year and a half. She talks about being a big sister constantly; she sets aside old toys of hers "for when we have a baby"; and a few weeks ago, she had a meltdown because she couldn't figure out where her car seat would go when we had a new baby who needed a car seat, too. We babysat for my friends' baby over the summer, and Rowan will still randomly mention that she's going to be a good big sister because she was such a big helper when baby Emmie was here. So - who knows what she'll be like when there's an actual infant in the house, but at least she'll be thrilled that one is on the way!

...Which is pretty much how I'm feeling, too. :)

anxiety dreams come true.

I had a dream on Sunday morning that I was going blind. My view grew darker and narrower by the minute, and I was crying and fumbling around and shouting, "My fucking contacts! I KNEW they'd do this to me!" When I floated back into consciousness, terror gripped me for a moment before I snapped my eyes open and, to my relief, saw the blue walls of my bedroom, hazy in the dim morning light.

********************

Then it turned out I had - in actual waking life - some sinus issues or an ear infection all day Sunday, and my right ear was rendered almost completely deaf. My balance was off, I bumped into doorways, and everyday noises like running water and laughter were piercing to my functioning ear. Still, I kept thinking all day long that I'm pretty sure I'd choose going deaf over going blind.

********************

And anxiety over depression.

********************

I'm guessing that's what the blindness dream was - an anxiety dream. A new storyline to add to my usual motifs: teeth falling out, fingers slipping as I try to dial 911, can't find the building for my final exam because I accidentally skipped every class session for the semester. My anxiety baseline has shifted so dramatically - positively - since becoming a stay-at-home mom that I sort of forgot how sneakily consuming it is. Even if I'm not willing to admit to it or acknowledge it during the day, it seeps out of me at night.

And it's not much of a shock that the dream came halfway through my weekend. When we rang in 2016, I had one job: full-time stay-at-home mom. Now, less than two months later, I'm juggling a bunch of random stuff: morning baby-sitting play groups, a few guest blog posts, my Etsy shop, some early childhood consulting appointments, and working as the new Kids Columnist for a local community journal. Oh, and, you know, still being a full-time stay-at-home mom (though thankfully with reliable and unbelievably amazing child care, courtesy of Grandma). I'm thrilled with each and every one of these, but each and every one is also a brand-new venture for me, complete with kinks and fine-tuning and recalibrating. I mean, it's been a long time since I had to deal with technical difficulties affecting my work performance. And these days I don't actually have on-site IT...or off-site IT, for that matter.

Really good at pretend-cleaning. Troubleshooting an HTML mishap, not so much.

So, exciting and mind-boggling as it all is, I basically rolled my (operational) eyes at myself when I realized that the typical stress of starting a few new jobs had tipped over into anxiety. The great thing, though, was that it felt like the only way out was through. I couldn't just snivel on the couch into a box of Cheez-its; I had to book the meetings and transcribe the interviews and schedule the photography and hammer out the game plan and create, create, create. 

(I mean, I did access my long-standing coping mechanism of hoovering sugar while pounding out over 5,000 words this weekend, but you know. Whatever.)

Mostly, I was able to remind myself that there's a learning curve with new jobs, and also a learning curve with returning to work. Especially when it's a work format you've never attempted before - part-time working from home with a wacky toddler scampering around, wanting to wear nothing but a tutu. We compromised on clothing + wings for today's library trip.

Would share a tushie-and-tutu pic here if I weren't scared of sanctimommy backlash.

********************

There's always more anxiety around the bend. Thursday is my follow-up appointment with nephrology. Friday is my final interview for my first column, which is due just a couple days later, which doesn't leave me much time to actually write it. And I'm harboring a fair amount of bitterness over the anxiety regularly yanking me out of the moment.

Master of Being Here Now.

And have I mentioned that Rowan's latest obsession (besides naked ballet)? She crams a baby doll into her shirt, cradles it gently, and even births it. Oh, boy. Today she wore her surrogate belly (and wings) to the FedEx store, and she told every passerby that she had a baby in her belly. At home, she zooms her Daniel Tiger trolley back and forth across the table and pretends that Daniel Tiger's mom is bringing the baby home for everyone to meet. In her crib, she sings herself to sleep with Daniel Tiger lyrics like we really love our baby and I want to play with my sister all day. She pats my stomach lovingly while we read books and asks, "Is there a baby in there for me?" Then she quickly answers herself: "Not yet!" It's all pretty adorable and endearing, but geez, kid, back off a little, eh? I'm still guiltily ambivalent about having another baby, and I just started all these new gigs, and Rowan only sleeps through the night like 70% of the time, and STOP PRESSURING ME ALREADY, CHILD.

That said, I'll take nine more of you, please.

********************

Netflix and dinner for now. Side note, we had a free trial (plus an accidental bonus week) of Blue Apron deliveries, and not only were they freakin' stellar, but we've been re-making a few of our favorites, thanks to the detailed recipe cards. So I'm off to tuck into my warm grain salad with orange, avocado, and gorgonzola. Hell yes. Oh, and to add airborne Benadryl to our HVAC system so Rowan will start falling asleep before 9:00 at night.

Sleep tight.

coming soon.

They call my name sooner than I expected. A nurse ushers me behind a curtain to check my height, weight, and blood pressure, and I sit beside her as she clicks through her list of questions. "Oh, it's your first visit to nephrology! Welcome!" I try not to sound sarcastic as I thank her, but I'm not happy to join this club. Out of the corner of my eye, a number jumps out at me from my chart.

35.

The patient is thirty-five years old, and I'm the patient, so I'm thirty-five. It's older than I feel, but biology isn't fueled just by emotions.

The nurse hums a little. "Any medications?" she asks.

"Nope," I respond. "Just a prenatal vitamin. We were hoping to start trying to conceive again soon."

She smiles broadly at me. "Oh, congratulations! How exciting."

And it is. But soon is a relative term, the implications of which echo in my heart as the nephrologist sits down with me to discuss our next steps. Soon, we'll schedule an ultrasound, a CAT scan, possibly a kidney biopsy; we'll know more soon. Soon.

At the end of this particular soon is, hopefully, my release from nephrology with a clean bill of health, and an all-clear to proceed with our family planning as we wish. It'll be at least four weeks before my next nephrology appointment, though, and before the next "next steps" are discerned. Weeks add up, and weeks turn into months, and my mind's eye keeps flashing back to the number on my chart.

35. Already advanced maternal age, already reaching the end of my reproductive years.

35. And at least thirty-six by the time I have another baby, to say nothing of another baby after that.

35. Three years older than when I was pregnant with Rowan.

35. Not old, but no spring chicken, either.

35. Maybe I've been waffling about adding another baby to our family, but let me just say, I don't like being told that I can't right now, and that we have to wait.

35.

The answers can't come soon enough.

(And you can tell me all you want to calm down and not freak out, and I will do my best to follow that advice while also trying to erase the pitying look on the doctor's face when I joked, "So it wasn't the cranberries?" Nope. Definitely not the cranberries.)

::

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dear baby...aka, the one with the last silhouette picture.

Dear Baby,

Tomorrow, we'll meet face-to-face. Or face-to-boob, whatever. You may not know this, but we've been waiting for you - not just for the last nine months, but really, for our whole lives. I can only imagine what you'll look like, what your temperament will be, what you'll be passionate about, and what will make you tick...but I promise to learn.

That's you in July - 28 weeks old.

Actually, that's a promise I'll try to keep for the rest of my life: to learn about you. In the beginning, when it comes to the basics, we'll have to learn together, since I've never done this before. I figure one step at a time is the best method, combined with listening to my instincts, listening to your daddy, and listening to the voice in my head that whispers, "Throw your expectations out the window and let her teach you." As you get older, you'll have to keep teaching me. All I can do is keep learning, keep loving.

Your daddy & mama. Always well-intentioned.

It'll be hard sometimes. I'm not an easy person. I guess most people aren't, when you really get to know them - or when you have to spend the majority of your waking hours with them. But I promise to try to be the best mama I can be for you, and to forgive myself when I fall short. 

There are so many things I'm so excited for you to experience. Saturday afternoon naps. Snow days. A celebrity crush. That movie you've seen a million times. Your favorite book. The vibrancy of early June. A much-needed vacation. The first time you eat produce from your own garden. Christmas lights. Mountains, oceans, rivers. Water gun fights. School-supply shopping. A nail-biting season finale. Your favorite jeans. That feeling of, "How does this writer just get me?" Roller coasters. Reinventing yourself. Moments of sheer gratitude. Landing THE job. Crying over a sappy storyline. Saving up for something. The teacher who changes your life. The restaurant where you're a regular. Sleeping with the windows open. Honeycrisp apples. When your heart swells (...figuratively), especially on someone else's behalf. Getting swooped up in a trend. Bucking the trend. The magic, the precision, the power of language. Best friends. Road trips. Creating cathartic art. Knowing you look great in that shirt, or in that picture, or before you go out. Front row to see your favorite band. Making your mark. Swinging, singing, laughing until you cry. A (temporary) video game obsession. Being moved to tears by a painting. Passion. Family. Kindness.

Those will all come in time. For now, I just want you to know that I love you already, and I cannot wait to meet you.*


Love,
Mama

16 weeks

20 weeks

24 weeks

28 weeks

32 weeks

36 weeks

39 weeks (today!)

*ACTUALLY, I can wait. I can wait until tomorrow, and so can you. No need to try to make an appearance tonight, okay, Baby? Okay.

See you tomorrow.

unnecessary.

Short update.

And another memo to mah bod.

Look, body. I know we've been through a lot in the past year. Pregnancy worked out pretty well for us, minus a few weeks in the beginning (that seem short only in retrospect) and a few details towards the end (pelvic girdle pain, anyone?) - but I acknowledge that it's a lot to put us through. 

STILL.

We've talked about this. Baby is breech. C-section is tomorrow morning. There is absolutely no need for us to experience any kind of pre-labor fun. Last night? When a band of pain started tightening around my chest at 7:30 p.m., and I couldn't breathe comfortably until 2:00 a.m.? When I was nauseated and my stomach was upset? When no "comfort position" would help? When I should have been hungry, but wasn't? YEAH. Unnecessary. Normal, sure. Nature's way, absolutely. Shouldn't complain, I know. But OUCH and YUCK. Thank goodness for responsive OBs (even though she's out of town, she was still in touch with me immediately).

Guess I better pack that hospital bag for real. You know, instead of just putting random things in the general vicinity of the bag.

**********************

Woke up this morning feeling miles better. Ate breakfast, which was delicious (although I was surprisingly not starving, even though I hadn't eaten since around 3:00 yesterday afternoon). Realized I never got my pre-op blood draw at my OB check-up yesterday morning, so I need to get that done. The rest of the stuff I wanted to get done today? Laundry, groceries, and the like? Screw it; it'll get done some other day, by someone else.

Only one major thing on the to-do list for today: the last pregnancy silhouette photo. THE LAST ONE. In the meantime, here's last week's:

38 weeks, 2 days

Unbelievable. This does not seem real. Although...I suppose last night was supremely helpful in allowing me to VERY MUCH WANT this pregnancy to be over. So...sorry, body. You're right. I trust you.

two weeks from yesterday.

I've been sitting here trying to write the posts I've been meaning to catch up on forever - posts about randomly starting a bathroom remodel, updating the upstairs hallway, plans for the basement, our anniversary adventures - but I gotta be honest, none of it is resonating. I pretty much have one thing on my mind this last week: baby, baby, baby.

Which makes sense, considering she's officially making her debut in less than two weeks.

35 weeks, 2 days

36 weeks, 2 days

37 weeks, 2 days

Seriously, I wanted to show you pictures of where we are in the nursery - furniture all set to go, closet almost ready, bookshelves hung, curtains just about done. I wanted to chat about photo displays and the new back yard fence and some post-reno kitchen thoughts. But I'm just not there. All I can think about, morning, noon, and night, is meeting the little girl who's been wiggling in my belly for nine months. Oh, and the fact that we do finally have a birth plan.

Yep! A birth plan. It's not the plan I planned on. It's - maybe even better than that?

At my 27-week ultrasound, Baby was breech, which wasn't a big deal. They're still flipping all around at that point of gestation, and they still have plenty of room to perform such fancy gymnastics. The thing was, ever since the ultrasound confirmed that the little baseball-sized (now softball-sized) lump in my upper abdomen was her head, I could tell that she's been pretty stuck there. Every once in a while, she scoots her bottom up so that she's lying across the top of my belly (ouch), but her head stays in roughly the same spot. I wasn't worried about it; I was just aware of the little round bump at the top of my big bump.

So it was no surprise when, at my 36-week checkup last Wednesday, my OB did a quick ultrasound and confirmed that her head was still in the same location. While we discussed some options, including an external version, our final decision was that a planned C-section ultimately would be best. 

I think my OB thought I was going to be upset by the idea of a C-section. I think I thought I would be upset by it. But I'm so, so not. In fact, the level to which I'm okay with this plan kind of shocks me. Then again, I hadn't spent much time envisioning my ideal labor and delivery, so I didn't have my heart set on anything in particular, other than a positive outcome (read: healthy baby, healthy mama). I know there are drawbacks to having major abdominal surgery when a vaginal delivery isn't outside the realm of possibility (say, if we did do a version), but screw thinking about all the drawbacks - for once, I started focusing right away on the benefits. I mean, think about it:

• The course of delivery is much more clear to me. There's no wondering about how many hours I'll be in labor or how badly contractions are going to hurt or whether I'll choose to get an epidural or if I'll tear. I could still go into labor naturally before our scheduled date, which means my amniotic fluid could still make a surprise appearance, but the rest of the path is well-charted. Being anxious about the unknown, I'm comforted by the idea of knowing (generally) how things will progress.
• Although I'll have a scar, I won't have to deal with some other personal (admittedly minor) risks of a vaginal delivery - tearing, hemorrhoids, pelvic floor issues, etc.
• I won't have to labor for endless hours and then end up having a C-section for some reason anyway. I've had some friends who birthed that way, and from the sounds of it, they struggled significantly more afterwards, both physically and emotionally, than those who had a planned C-section.
• I get a couple extra days in the hospital. This isn't everyone's bag, but I'm all about having extra support around me for a few days. Also? We did the birth tour at the hospital, and the newly-renovated rooms are pretty sweet. I'm going to approach it like a stay in a hotel. With, you know, lots of bodily fluids and pain meds and a brand-new human to feed using just my body parts. But there will be a flock of experts around me to help deal with all of those things. And, you know, meals delivered right to my room. Plus, we live three miles away from the hospital, so it'll be convenient for J.J. to run home if he needs a break or needs to grab something.
• A C-section automatically grants me at least two extra weeks of medical leave - eight total, instead of six. I'm planning on taking 12 total weeks off, but this means I have to use 80 fewer hours of my carefully-hoarded vacation time. Boom.
• The C-section recovery may or may not be more "difficult" than with a vaginal delivery. I've talked with moms who have endured each, and their opinions were fairly similar - that the recovery wasn't necessarily easier or harder, just different. One good thing is that I'll be forced - required - to take it really easy for at least a couple weeks. In my warped mind, that will be much easier to comply with after a surgery than it would be after vaginal childbirth. I would have expected myself to be up and at 'em pretty much immediately; not so, in the case of a C-section. I still think it'll be a challenging recovery period, in part because I'll have to rest so much, but it'll probably be better for me in the long run.

Of course, the drawbacks sneak in from time to time, usually in the dead of night. Drawbacks...like imagining the pain of the epidural shot, or envisioning my abdomen splayed open and a human emerging from it, or what if they leave an instrument or a rag inside of me and it causes sepsis six years down the line...I mean, come on, I'm still me. I've watched Grey's Anatomy. I'm nervous. Not just about the C-section - also about the outcome of even a successful section, which is: a newborn (you know, NBD, just a little baby that we have to figure out how to keep alive). But the vast majority of the time, it's more like anticipation than anxiety. CBT techniques will come in so handy in the next two weeks (less than two weeks), but I need to have them at the forefront of my mind in order to utilize them. For example, no labor/baby thoughts allowed in the middle of the night, regardless of how hard that is to do when I wake up to pee right around 4:00 and can't seem to fall back asleep. Also, it's helpful to remember what a common surgery this is. Surgery, yes - my very first ever - but a really common one with relatively low risk.

The most helpful technique? Keeping my eyes on the prize. The end result will be a sweet little babe to sport the cutest laundry I've ever done:

Don't worry, there are some non-blue-and-green clothes in her wardrobe, too.
...Some.

The other prize? I'll be done being pregnant. I may be trading in current discomforts for post-surgical ones, but I'm pretty much over these current discomforts. I have to say, I'm so grateful to have had a super easygoing pregnancy overall, but that changed - dramatically - last week. Could be that I had psyched myself up to get through camp, and once I did, I had nothing left in my reserves to keep on keepin' on. Could be that I went from moving around all day long, including swimming almost every afternoon, to a lot more sitting. Could be that I haven't been sleeping as well. Could be that I ceased going on nightly walks, since they would spur on Braxton Hicks contractions, and I don't want to trigger actual labor yet. Could be that, geez, I hit my last four weeks of pregnancy, and I'm 20+ pounds heavier than I've ever been, and I'm retaining water in my face and calves and freakin' toenails, and I'm just not comfy! Whatever it is, I have to watch myself now. I ended the work week last Friday in major pain, with weird internal pinchy cramps (contractions?) and shooting pains every time I stood up or walked. I almost went to triage to get checked out, but everything eased up once I got home and rested for about an hour. Still, a similar thing happened yesterday - extreme downward pressure, hurting to walk, not being able to bend over and stand back up without gritting my teeth. Luckily, I have amazingly supportive co-workers who shooed me home for the day right before lunch. And they were right to do so - it won't help anyone if I go into labor this week. Nonetheless, I'm ready to move past this particular physical phase of the childbearing year.

There's still a lot on our pre-baby to-do list, but it's dwindling pretty quickly. I'd like to catch up on all those pending blog posts - like the state of the nursery! - but the truth is, I'm focused now on a few strong hopes: that I don't go into labor before our scheduled date; that I don't have any lingering major tasks (*cough* replacing our suddenly-deadly garage door *cough*) to deal with immediately post-partum; stabilizing the anxiety that ramped up once we had a specific date set; and - most of all, above and beyond anything else ever - that this little babe comes out healthy. I read an article once written by the mother of a child with special needs who took offense to the idea that so many expectant parents voiced their wish of wanting nothing more than a healthy newborn. I think her perspective was, "What, so you wouldn't want MY 'unhealthy' child?" But I don't think that gets at the root of the wish, which is a potential nightmare: that your baby may not be healthy enough to live. No one wants that scenario, just as I don't want anyone I love - my baby, my partner, my parents or siblings or friends - to have to deal with bad health. And I've been in the situation of loving fiercely a brand-new baby with life-threatening complications, and let me tell you, it's scary as hell. You wouldn't wish that fear on anyone, either. So I stand by my strongest hope - that all is well with the baby I've loved since before she was even conceived. 

Even though she's trying to poke her head under my ribs right now. #ouch

Oh, and the date that was set? September 25. Two weeks from yesterday. Sounds splendid to me. :)

endings, beginnings, beginnings.

Ha. Remember back in May when I was all, "Wow, when summer camp ends this year, an external baby will be imminent"? Yeah. Camp ends in two days. TWO DAYS. Then it's four weeks to go, give or take - but hopefully right around four weeks, because two weeks sounds terrifying and six weeks sounds never-ending.

The days are slipping away, marked only by perfunctory task achievements, new bodily discomforts, and a creeping sense that I ought to start preparing for an actual baby. I mean, sure, we've been preparing: the nursery is coming along, we're stockpiling essentials (thanks mostly to ridiculously generous family and friends), we even went to a breastfeeding class last weekend. Still, there are some glaring omissions. Like maybe we should buy some diapers. And solidify my maternity leave. And decide on a name, or at least a short list of names. And learn a little about newborns?

Bah. I'm doing best functioning hour by hour, tidbit by tidbit, list by list. In that vein, here's where I am these days.

• 35 weeks. Had one of my once-every-four-weeks spells of crushing exhaustion this past weekend. I think they coincide with Baby's growth spurts. This time, I was smart about it and gave into it more quickly, allowing myself to rest and chill. I'm finally figuring this pregnancy thing out! ...Now that it's almost done, anyway.
• Trusting that my body is preparing for the birth. The sensation that my pubic bone is splitting apart every time I (a) bend over, (b) turn over in bed, or (c) walk - that's normal, right? And it won't actually split...right? Okay, so "trust" is a strong word.
• Not trusting that I know my own dimensions anymore. Because I don't. My magical innards better be durable, so as to help Baby withstand the constant pokes, scrapes, and bumps against my belly as I run into things. Chairs. Bathroom stall doors. My own arms. Also, what the hell - maternity shirts don't always cover the underside of my belly anymore? If they don't, what does?! (Answer: muumuus. Why aren't those in fashion anymore?)
• Clumsiness, best evidenced by the huge bruises on my left arm and the fetus-sized bump on my shin from slipping and falling as I (drum roll, please) walked through a doorway. Thankfully, my shin took the brunt of the fall, as opposed to my belly. Felt quite sure for about 20 minutes that an epidural might come in handy during pregnancy as well as labor.
• Survived the summer, heat waves, cold fronts, extra job responsibilities and all. Also made it through camp without outgrowing the maternity bathing suit I wear almost every afternoon...holla! I even beat some 10-year-olds playing Categories in the deep end of the pool yesterday (and then had some Braxton Hickseseses to pay for it. Totally worth it).
• Anxiety: Kept in check...minus one episode a couple nights ago, when I woke up at 4 a.m. and couldn't fall back asleep because of All The Thoughts. I can't even remember what most of them were, other than "I think the baby is breech" and "I need more stamps," but apparently, they were fascinating enough to eat away an hour and a half of precious sleep. Had to reinstate my rule of No Thinking In the Middle of the Night, Cathy.
• Getting it done. Namely, my ever-growing list of general things I want/need to get done before the baby comes - order new glasses (did you know some hospitals won't let you wear contacts during labor...and my glasses broke awhile back?), get my oil changed four months ago, finish the back yard fence, sign up for a birthing class, stockpile stamps, order nursery fabrics, get the bathroom fan installed, fix the stupid kitchen trash can, install the car seat bases, finish the baby's bookshelves, do a load of baby laundry (crib sheets, some blankets, the going-home outfit), recycle all those stupid CFLs that burned out after we moved in....Just gotta take it one by one. I guess.

At least some things are off the lists now. Pictures/posts to come about my door-painting project, nursery progress, back yard plans, and our third anniversary (slash, our maternity photo shoot). And there are only about five more of these to post after tonight:

32 weeks, 4 days

33 weeks, 2 days

34 weeks, 4 days

Now off to watch this week's "Newsroom" episode. Again, remember a few months ago when I was all, "Wow, when this season of 'Newsroom' and 'Dexter' end, it'll be time to pop out a child"? YEAH. Endings, leading to beginnings, leading to who knows what...