I have not welcomed a new human into this world.
Nope, I have not gone into labor. Yes, I know I look like I could pop at any moment. I promise you’ll see it on Facebook/we will call you/we will email you/we will text you. Yes, I’m uncomfortable as sin. Yes, I’ve tried bouncing on a yoga ball/walking/spicy food/pineapple/sexy times. Yes, I’m ready.
Oh goodness. I am so ready. This child sits heavy in my pelvis, bearing down with all her might. She wants to meet the world; we want to meet her. She’s no longer a giant – and is instead a perfectly sized fetus. My children, it seems, tend to overachieve in the growth arena and then totally free-load. I hope this isn’t indicative of their intentions after college.
I am tired of people looking at me and asking me constantly when I’m going to go into labor. If I knew… believe me, I would be screaming it from the roof tops. I could stop making imaginary lists. I would stop tearing up over the thought that this could be my last night as a family of three. I am weepy and happy and full of energy and exhausted all at the same time. I want to lie on my back on the couch. I am ready for days (and nights) of blistered nipples and dvr’d episodes of Real Housewives. I want to hold this child in my arms. Intensely.
Last Friday, after my appointment, I picked up the two people I love most in this world and we planted our toes in the sand. Clearwater Beach is less than five minutes from K’s office — heck, Honeymoon Island is less than 10 from our front door, but we rarely make it out for a sunset. This time, we did it. It was wonderful: chilly to us Floridians. C^3 had to warm herself up by chasing seagulls.
Yes, that might be the only picture of my bump at the moment. I have to carry C^3 above it; she sort of perches there, content. Her world – our world – is about to get rocked. Maybe tonight? I don’t know. Please don’t ask.