It hit him hard yesterday morning. He was fine the day before, went to bed no problem, then I woke up at 12:30 to him coughing. Woke up a couple more times through the night to his coughs, then I was up at the usual 5:45, expecting him to wake some time soon only to finally lift him out of his crib at 8. He almost fell asleep on the 10 minute drive to my parent's house, could've fallen asleep countless times there rocked in Grandma's, then Daddy's, then my arms. Then he had a three hour nap in the afternoon, interrupted only because we had to get to our maternity photo shoot that we didn't want to reschedule in case the baby comes.
Today, that's probably why I'm still awake. I read in great detail yesterday about the actual process of labour and delivery. It made me cry, thinking of what I will go through, what my body is surely capable of but is very hard to believe in theory. And I am waiting for this baby to come.
Do I feel ready now? No. But I am closer to feeling ready in the sense that the hospital bag is packed, the sleepers are washed, the cradle is in our room and (almost) set up.
Today, I am sick of the mess that is always in my house. Evidence of late night dinner leftovers on the kitchen counter, dirty clothes waiting for the wash, and a load of clean ones that still have to be dried. Socks in the living room, an old carseat that I can't seem to get rid of blocking my hallway. Stuff to give away or sell strewn about my house. And my bathroom, disgusting me so much that when I tried to throw up, the sight of my toilet made me feel worse but still didn't induce me to vomit. Ugh.
Today, I am frustrated at my husband for still not reading one simple section of an entire book I've read on birth. He's not doing his research and will therefore not be ready to help me deliver our child. He's not prepared even though he thinks he is; he'll be looking to me for direction and I need it from him instead. Yet today, I am still more in love with my husband than I ever was 11 years ago when we said our vows. He is a loving husband, an incredible father, a hard worker and my partner in every which way. So maybe his hand holding will be all I'll need to help me through this birth. But at least that's not happening today, and there's still time before this baby makes his or her grand entrance.
Today, I am loving and dreading the toddler my boy is becoming. I love his independence and self-discovery, and am continually frustrated at his defiance and boundary pushing. I love how he is getting braver at the park, how he ventures onto the play structures and does his thing - notably, roll cars down the slide, then turn around on his tummy and giggle his way after his cars - and I love how he still likes to be near me though that's hard when cooking dinner. I love that he will be a big brother, but I am mourning the loss of the two of us and our special times together. I miss cuddling him like that baby I held almost two years ago. But I am so proud of my son, my 22 and a half month old, sleeping in his new room as though it's always been his place in this house.
Today, I'm going to try and get some more sleep before morning comes. My ginger tea is finished, I have to pee yet again and I know morning comes swiftly in this house.
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