sharon waits

My daughter commented on waiting for her first child’s birth in a recent e-mail. Excerpts follow:
I quit teaching so that I could be a stay-at-home mom. I hoped I would do more mothering and less waiting.
I used to sit in the nursery for hours just reading while I waited, but I don’t do that anymore – it’s such a tease to look at all those darling cowboy decorations without a baby. I keep thinking, “today could be the day,” but it hasn’t been “the day” yet.
Before you get the wrong idea, I’m not bored. I stay busy: concentrating on how many kicks and false contractions I feel in an hour, cleaning the kitchen counters five-six times a day, running errands, preparing breakfast, lunch, and dinner for myself and my husband, checking my e-mail, reading a few chapters of “Chicken Soup for the Expectant Mother’s Soul,” my Bible, or some other book, searching the TV listings for another re-run of “Law and Order” or other banal tasks. Oh, and on Tuesdays I’ve joined a ladies’ Bible study about how to be a biblical wife and mother. My days and weeks are obviously quite full. I could do some substitute teaching, call a friend or finish a scrapbook, but I think I’m onto something here with my sit and wait scheme.
I have two different due dates: September 25 and 28. If the baby waits until October 1, my insurance co-pay will be cut in half. Co-pay schmo-pay; I’m ready now.
I could have safely delivered our sweet baby last week – that would have been just fine with me because I’m ready.
I’m ready to not be pregnant anymore. I’m ready to be able to catch a full breath without sighing loudly. I’m ready to get out of stretchy clothes and back into normal clothes again. I’m ready to be able to get to sleep without five pillows surrounding me. My pillow army and I have usurped our bed – my husband is ready to be able to feel something besides that huge body pillow next to him.
Mostly, I’m just ready to hold this being who has taken over my body this year.
For nine months I’ve tried eating sensibly, planned for and decorated a nursery, prayed, written “Thank You” notes for gifts given on his behalf, and worn less and less attractive clothing, all for the sake of caring for this little one.
I’m ready to meet him. I’m ready to change diapers, nurse him and have sleepless nights. I’m ready to see him wearing those adorable outfits that people have given. I’m ready to rock our son in my arms. I’m ready for the responsibility of caring for a totally helpless person who will leech off of us for years to come.
According to my doctor, I’m going to have to wait a little longer than I want. During this week’s check-up, he said, “Well, maybe this baby isn’t ever going to come out!”
“Please, don’t ever say that again,” I groaned.
He laughed and assured me that the baby will come. Apparently, no one has ever been pregnant forever, but I’m consulting a record book before I believe him. He said he professionally could not let me go much past 41 weeks before he induced labor, which is just fine with me! I don’t want to be 44 weeks pregnant and staring down the clock, thank you very much.
Meanwhile, I’ve been researching natural ways to induce labor. Today I’m going to try taking a walk. Although my former fast-paced walk has become a meandering waddle, I understand it’s one of the tamest labor-inducing methods.

About jottingjoan

retired former newspaper writer. Many children and grandchildren. One husband.
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