Monday, June 18, 2007

This Is A Story About Control


It's not the discomfort, really. That's pretty minor. Other than the feeling of having to move an internal 20-lb. bag of marbles whenever I roll over in bed, and the extra time needed to get off the couch, I don't really feel that different from a month ago.

It's the suspense, I guess. The not-knowing. The Hammer Guy lurking around every corner. And it's also the unraveling of the few plans I did have. I've spent months looking forward to my parents being here for the big event and now here we are, a few hours away from taking my dad to the airport for his return trip. My mom's going to hang out a few more days at least, but I'd envisioned a week or more of grandmotherly assistance, both with the baby and Miss M.

I've been stuffing the feelings of disappointment and anxiety, but I'm running out of room in here. And unfortunately, I reached capacity on the one day of the year when I should have been focused on something other than my maternity - Father's Day. While my dad and The Admiral were trying to wrangle Miss M and watch the US Open at the same time, I was trying to nap off the urge to get in the car and drive back to my cabin for the week. Didn't really work, though. I slept from 1:00-3:30. Then wept openly from 3:30-5:00, an event so unusual and jarring to Miss M that she just sat and stared at my face with a puzzled expression. Even after Cha Cha and Pops took her for a long walk and park trip, she came back and said, "Mama, are you feeling better? Why were you crying?" I tried to explain it to her in terms she'd understand, reminding her how frustrated she gets when she's waiting for something to happen and it takes longer than she hoped. That made some sense to her, even if she didn't gather the deeper issues. Or why the crying got more intense whenever I looked at Pops.

I'm trying not to sink into pessimism, but part of me is thinking that this Tuesday will be the day, because that will be after my dad leaves but before my midwife gets back from vacation. Wouldn't that be just like a baby? All spontaneous and inconvenient like that? But at this point, I don't even care. Maybe that's where I need to be. I've been so busy trying to get everything in order and under control before this baby comes, but now I just want him here. Now.

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