Somewhere along the line I got a little sidetrack. My mind has been consumed with all kinds of things the last several months & weeks. Making the transition from 1 kid to two without losing my mind, making Phoenix feel included, important & not forgotten, reminding my husband that 3 AM sessions won’t fly soon & wondering if that not so maternity dress Kourtney Kardashian was wearing is anywhere near my maternity clothing budget. Yes. Once.- Also buy this dress because it is awesome. 

And even though for the last many months I’ve been thinking about the kind of birth I want & making sure the insurance company would cover it {which they will BUT I STILL had to write a very large check that was cashed just in case. Ugh. Do you think Obama Care will cover midwives completely?} & where & who I would birth with. But in all of that thinking & debating & assessing, something very important slipped my mind. 

Something like the actually labor. 

You know that thing that you have to do in order to actually swaddle the baby in the soft muslin blankets you can’t stop touching?

I don’t know how I thought he was coming out but somehow or another I figured he just would. And sometime within the last two weeks someone whacked me on my head & said “HEY! You have to expel the baby from you. You know that right?!” And then to top all that off I’m trying to be all hippy like & do this shit at home. Without unnecessary medical interventions, without drugs, without the comfort of the jarring fluorescent lights at the hospital. Just me, my vagina & the midwife. 

What if I die in labor? Should I write letters now to my two orphaned children? Do I start making notes for my husband to remind him of things like no obsessive character outfits & that the kids should never, ever, ever invite themselves some place? 

What if I can’t do this? What if I have romanticized this entire homebirth notion & the idea of tub birthing & what if I won’t want to actually be in a tub with all my insides floating around and touching me? What if I’m so grossed out I won’t want to hold my new baby right away & instead cradle a washcloth to my bosom?

I didn’t have these labor jitters last time. They wheeled me to my room & I excitedly anticipated when they told me I could  push. My mind might be playing tricks on me, but I don’t remember freaking out about how he was actually going to come out. 

Maybe my nerves are heightened because this experience is going to be so different & so new than the last & I really won’t have any options for meds or anything. Which is good that’s the way I want it but still… 

We still have 5 weeks to go. I originally was told my due date was the 24th of August but at the ultrasound they moved me a week ahead to the 17th based on his size, but my NEW midwife took me back to the 24th. And what I mind fuck that was! I’m at that stage where everyday second, minute counts to get to D-Day.  

And now I leave you with a picture of my enormous uncovered belly {which if you fan on FB you may have already seen}