Disclaimer: if you're growing tired of my every-tenth-post or so "OMG I'M HAVING A BABY" spaz outs, just skip this one and come back when I have it all under control. Like, say, the year 2013ish.
Bumblebee is coming in 2010. 2010 is coming in just over 24 hours. I have 43 days until my c-section. I start seeing my doctor once a week starting in 2 weeks. I have to see him weekly because that's what they DO when you're about to have a BABY. (But I'll keep mum on exactly what it is they DO every week, because that would be very TMI and scar some of you for life. I'll just say this- when heading down the baby having path and choosing an OB, take a good look at his/her hands. The smaller = the better.) Where was I? WEEKLY APPOINTMENTS. Home stretch. BABY. COMING. SOON. Safe to say, dear Interwebs, the panic button has been pressed and I could really use a drink. Or a cookie or twelve. And as per usual, some heavy duty antacid meds.
A few things precipitated today's state of near-hysteria.
#1: Hobby Lobby. Yes, the fluorescent lit kingdom of crafts strikes again. I walked in, looked to my right, and was stopped in my tracks by a huge wall of pink and red glittery heart shaped clutter. VALENTINE'S things. You know what happens just before Valentine's Day, people? C-SECTION AND A BABY HAPPENS.
#2: A mom at Target with two babies. One looked to be about two, the other about six months, and the mom ... well, she looked like she needed a bath really, really badly. And strong meds. The baby in the Bjorn was kicking and screaming, the bigger baby in the cart (in footie pajamas and rocking some serious bed head) was screaming AND shoving her finger up her nose. I offered an encouraging smile to the mom, and she looked from my face to my belly to my sweet Mister chomping Goldfish in the cart ... then back at my face with what I can only describe as fearful pity in her eyes. Those eyes were trying to tell me something. Like "YOU'RE TOTALLY UNAWARE OF WHAT YOU'RE ABOUT TO GET YOURSELF INTO! RUN! HIDE! TAKE THE GOLDFISH WITH YOU!"
#3: The biggie. A really horrific nightmare I had last night. So horrific that I woke sweating and panicked and had to go to Mister A's room and just touch him and when that wasn't sufficient, I poked him in the belly to make him move. Then when I'd ensured he was there and safe and not forcefully removed from our family (I'll get to that), I sat in the rocker in the corner and cried over the nightmare that sent me stumbling into his room at 3am in the first place. The nightmare started with J and I arriving at the hospital to have Bumblebee, Mister A in tow, because what nearly 17 month old wouldn't enjoy experiencing a c-section? Except when we got there, our car was swarmed by hospital personnel with a stretcher in tow. They removed my A from his car seat, strapped him down on the stretcher, blindfolded him, and started to wheel him off. I was screaming and my usually supportive J was MIA. (I'll bet he was playing with his new iTouch or something.) The evil hospital people told me this was how it worked- we had to trade A in for B. I protested and howled and bargained as tree leaves blew into my face and clouded my vision, but nobody would listen and they wheeled off my terrified baby boy. See? Horrible. It doesn't take a trained psychoanalyst to see the meaning behind that one, I suppose. But, damn. I thought the pre-wedding "I SHOWED UP WITHOUT MAKEUP!" dreams were scary.
I don't even know why I'm posting this, and half in caps, at that. I'm absolutely grateful, I'm certainly excited to meet my daughter, I'm beyond ready to be done with diabetes and barf burps and burning through eighty five rolls of toilet paper a week. I know we'll all get through this in one piece, the new normal will become just plain old normal. But for tonight, panic reigns. So I'll eat pizza and watch something totally unrelated to babies, then I'll go to sleep hoping for sweet dreams and a calmer state of mind come tomorrow morning. And some encouraging comments from the moms of 2 or more wouldn't hurt, either, even if you have to make something up. Like, say, "it's so easy! You'll love both babies the same! Your hair will get washed! You'll fit into your skinny jeans by March!" Or other important things like that. If you'd like to tell me to run and hide and take the Goldfish with me, well then, keep that to your (crazy unshowered) self.