Ok so maybe this isn’t my belly, but sometimes it feels like this (and seeing this picture does make me feel better). Seriously, how can I possibly be 6 months pregnant? Now that this is apparently likely to happen, it seems like the shortest pregnancy of all time. Certainly we are in no way prepared to welcome a newborn into our family. I’m still trying to juggle my thyroid meds, uncooperative salivary glands, relentless acid reflux, crazy work schedule, end of summer childcare, and normal household circus. Most days I feel like I’m moving methodically through an endless parade of consecutive tasks – arrive home – mail – start dinner – unpack kids’ lunches – unload dishwasher – serve dinner – clean up dinner – bathe kids, brush kids’ teeth, oversee guitar practice, stories – fold laundry….with always the end goal to get myself into bed to catch some sleep before the dog or a kid inevitably gets me up again before my 5:20am alarm for work.
The thought of adding an infant into the mix is frightening (assuming it’s going to want to be held, fed, changed, and/or bathed). My irrational pregnancy brain keeps thinking that we just need a bunch of strategically placed bouncy seats to stash the “potato” while I parent my older “functioning” kids. But as this point even the minimal amount of time/effort it’s going to take to obtain bouncy seats (as we generously donated all things baby long ago), seems like a burden. At least I don’t have to plan a nursery (no room for one)!
Yet still my poor nesting brain is frantic: must get baby gear, must find time/money for a larger car (to accommodate infant car seat – must get infant car seat), must complete big work assignments and figure out maternity leave, must decide on day care vs. nanny (and if nanny, find nanny), and probably should wax my legs and figure out what we’re having for dinner this week, and why is my six year old still in his PJs at 4:00pm? But that’s the magic (or mischief) of kids, they force you to make more time – to squeeze it from somewhere (usually your nights).
But something tells me that it will all be worth it. Whenever I feel this little bugger squirm, I’m reminded that he/she chose this time, chose us. And often resistance is futile.