So Long Pregnancy

Today was my last full day being pregnant.  Not just with MDG, but most likely ever.  And, now that we're at the end, I'm feeling all sorts of things.

First of all, lest I forget, I'm feeling utterly exhausted.  As though my body has been through some sort of long, drawn out war only to realize that it isn't over, and the worst is yet to come in a bloody battle of will and physics and nature (hopefully dulled some by the beauty of modern medicine, aka the epidural).  My hips ache with what I have self-diagnosed as SPD, but could just be normal wear and tear from the whole basketball sized person it's lugged around lately.  My nose feels huge, my immune system is shot, I waddle, and I frequently worry I might wet myself. Not such a cute sight.

But those are the physical things.  Truth is, if I felt inspired, I'd do it again.  If J-Man were on board.  And we could afford it.  And it felt right.  I just don't see now when that time would be.  And I'm ok with that.  With this being the end of that.

The other things I feel aren't as easy to explain.  Or admit.

I feel guilty.  Tonight, when reading PDG his bedtime story of Goodnight Moon, I wanted the book to last forever.  I wanted there to be more items in that great green room to name off so that I could hold him in my lap just another minute or ten or fifty while he's still my only one.  I kissed him and squeezed him and told him how mommy would always love him this much, no matter what happens tomorrow.  We said our goodnight prayers and I prayed he would know that.  Even in his immature but developing toddler brain.  That he'd still feel my love when I'm recovering and nursing and nowhere near the mama I like to think I've maintained being through most of these past twenty months.

I feel frustrated.  Frustrated that my body couldn't do this on its own.  Again.  As if the year plus of infertility before PDG didn't make me feel like I wasn't woman enough - or whatever it is that I felt month after month - I started to feel that way again.  I know, I know, a safe delivery and a healthy baby is all that matters.  Pitocin is fine.  A c-section would be acceptable.  Life goes on as long as he gets here.  But still, I'm human, I feel things, even if they're irrational, and I irrationally get annoyed with my body for not having figured out how to jumpstart labor on its own.

I feel nervous.  Not so much for the labor.  I think as long as I get some pain meds in a reasonable time frame, that should be manageable enough.  Uncomfortable and painful, sure, but manageable.  The pushing - eh.  If I got through 2.5 hours last time, I can do it again.  Right?  But the day after?  The nursing?  The fifteen steps to just peeing solo again?  The sleep deprivation and self-doubt?  The wondering if this awful part ever ends and then feeling bad for thinking that because 'this awful part' overlaps with those first days and weeks of wonderment staring at that tiny being you've created with the person you love more than anyone else on earth?  That whole phase I'm nervous for.

I hope he's healthy.  I hope I stay healthy.  I hope my precious PDG can adjust.  And my J-Man.  And me.  And when I get my wits about me post-delivery, I'll let you know how it's going.

After all, lots of people have second kids.  My brother even went on to have a 3rd and 4th.  My dad's mom went on to have a 5th and 6th.

It's just time for me to put my game face on, not dwell on crazy thoughts, and let life happen.  Tomorrow at this time, God-willing, I will have another son to love and spoil and fret over.  I'll have another birth story with at least one twist I couldn't have expected.  I'll be a little stronger, a little more vulnerable, and still very much the same overthinker I am tonight.

Time to be a G.