A couple of posts ago I wrote that I'm ready. I'm ready for this baby to come. I' m ready to reacquaint myself with the ability to bend in the middle and get out of bed without floundering about like a walrus on dry land. I'm ready to meet our daughter.
Well, I may be physically ready, but mentally, I'm not so sure. The first question that comes to mind as we approach D-day is, Are we insane? I realize it's a tad late to ask that question. She's coming, ready or not. We want this little girl in our lives - we've dreamed about it long enough - but we're not prepared! Her room isn't even started. Will she care? No, I'm sure she won't, but we do. The house is a shambles and it will only get worse after she's here. What makes us think we can take care of a tiny life so completely reliant on us? We do pretty well with our pets, but this is a baby.
I'm not sure if I'm entirely ready for the hospital. I don't like hospitals, but I am not having our daughter at home. I want the benefit of modern technology and medical experts nearby should something go wrong. Still . . . .
And what if something goes wrong. There is such a thing as infant and maternal mortality. I may be of "advanced maternal age" (the definition of which is open to debate, in my opinion) ,but I'm not ready to leave this world yet. I'm not ready to lose our daughter either. We've been through too much, my husband and I, to lose her or each other now. My rational self tells me that the odds are extremely unlikely that anything will happen and I'm being ridiculous, but as usual, irrational self pounds rational self into the ground. You hear stories, after all (curse you, Google!).
I can't wait until this is over. I acted this way just before my laparoscopy in 2008: nervous and morbid. Then, I was thinking how ironic it would be that our wedding announcement and my obituary would appear in the paper on the same day (I told you, morbid). It helps that everything turned out well after that. I'm destined to be a chronic worrier.
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