The baby can't come yet because...

I wrote this a few days before Ewan was born...

I am almost 42 weeks into this pregnancy. 42 weeks divided by 4 ain't no 9 months. I have been pregnant way too long with way too uncomfortable of a pregnancy. It's time. It's past time. We need to get this show on the road. If the baby and I don't, then by Saturday the doctor will. And I don't like the way that scenario plays.

My doula suggested that there might be something lingering on my to do list that is hanging up labor. I have now had labor begin three times only to stall and stop. So what's the hang up? She suggested that I get it all out in a journal, even if I can't handle everything on the list right now. Just to get it out of my head. And then to do whatever I can to relax.

So... here goes.

The baby can't come yet because...
1. I'm almost out of lipstick.
2. There is mold growing in the caulking of the bathtub.
3. The kitchen isn't clean.
4. I need to call Lara back.
5. We haven't found childcare yet for when I go back to work.
6. Ross hasn't packed his hospital bag.
7. Margaret had surgery.
8. I'm worried I won't love the baby. Or won't love him as much as Rebecca. Or will always want a girl. Or will resent him because I've felt so physically miserable this whole pregnancy.

And it's the last one, I think, that is the clencher. What an awful thing to admit. I'm really afraid that I won't connect with this baby. That the dreamy-eyed new mom thing won't happen for me. After everything. After Rebecca, after the infertilty tests and that whole fear, after the struggle that Ross and I went through to get pregnant, after the Herculean struggle that this pregnancy has been. When I am finally holding in my arms the wonder that is this little boy, will I love him? I'm scared I won't. I'm scared that I won't feel what I'm supposed to feel. And what if what I feel isn't enough to be good enough for this new little life? What if he just deserves a better mom than me?

I got mad at him last night for kicking me so hard that it made me scream in pain and feel sick at the same time. I got really hacked at Ross for snatching the covers out from under me because it woke the baby up and made him kick me. And I just thought, "If the baby is so unhappy in my belly, why doesn't he just come out already??!!" But what if it's actually me holding him in? What if it's not the baby that's not ready, but me?

Ross might clean the kitchen and pack his hospital bag. Lara and the lipstick and the childcare and the mold can wait until after the baby is born. There is nothing any of us can do about Margaret and her surgery. But can I come to terms with #8? Can I start loving this little boy?

Dear Baby,

You are my baby. You are my little boy. Mine. I feel like we are still strangers, but I want to meet you. I want to see your big eyes and your sweet lips and your tiny fingers and toes. I want to see if your hair is brown like mine or red like your daddy's. I want to hear your voice. I want to see if you can sing. I want to teach you all of our funny songs and inside jokes.

Come soon, baby boy!

Love,

Mommy