Yesterday I had the "Oh, shit" moment...as in, "Oh, shit, I'm REALLY having a baby", and, "Oh God, six weeks isn't that long."
It happened the instant I opened an email message with a .pdf attachment containing the official approval of my maternity leave.
Yes, ladies, revelation arrived via an email message saying it is perfectly okay for me to not work for a whole nine weeks. THAT'S what it takes to get my attention? The fact that I won't have to report to work? Not the sweet little baby kicks or the cartoonish shape of my swollen feet or even waking up six times every night to shuffle to the bathroom. The fact that I'm excused from work. Priorities much, Paige?
I've never thought of myself as a workaholic, and I still don't. But I realized yesterday I have been so focused on my job and the Junior League that, in a sense, I've neglected the little soul growing inside of me.
Don't get me wrong. I've been doing all the right stuff (well, mostly...) like keeping all pre-natal appointments with not just one, but two, doctors; eating well (most of the time...); keeping my blood sugar levels under control with diet and rigorous testing; taking my vitamins and Expecta; sleeping well; exercising; indulging in bi-monthly pedicures; and collecting all the necessary stuff for a new baby.
But, if children spell love "T-I-M-E", then, so far, I'm failing. I have six weeks. Surely that will be enough time to assemble a crib, bedeck it with the beautiful white crib linens, put away all of our collected treasures for Baby and, most importantly, rearrange priorities.
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13 comments:
Awww. Paige, you could have 6 more months, and you wouldn't feel ready (except physically maybe). I for one, never felt ready.
Take care of yourself. Rest as much as you can now. It's the calm before the storm. The beautiful terrifying storm that will change your life.
Aw, when Karen (yup, the WME Karen) was about half her head outta me, I screamed, "OH NO! I'm NOT READY!" (In retrospect, after over 48 hours of labor, I should have had time to GET ready, I suppose.) The OB nurse shouted at me "You should have thought of that nine months ago before you got in bed. Now PUSH!" Best of luck to you and GET READY. In a blink, your baby will be blogging on WME.
I second Joy.
Grandmoo, that nurse was a major jerk. I hope you pooped on her.
Thanks, Gals. PG and I are making good progress today. I found the perfect curtain rod, tie-back hardware and curtain panels for the closet, and found the pulls I wanted for the dresser drawers (we're using an antique that was PG's when he was a child). All the clothes are in the wash (with Dreft! See? I KNOW what to do...it's just about time...) and I'm feeling much better about it today. And, I, too, think that nurse was a major jerk, Grandmoo. Definitely deserving of a swift kick in the shins with a pointy-toe slingback.
I'm willing to cut Grandmoo's nurse some slack...but only because I still feel a little guilty for screaming at my nurse for 3 straight hours before Sarah made the scene.
Gotta tell ya, Paige, Kate's been here for nearly 3 and 1/2 years, Sarah for nearly 16 months...I have days when I'm still not ready.
+1 WMP for being totally unprepared! Dive in and take your best shot with the rest of us...I'm sure you'll have plenty to write about along the way.
P.S. My reaction to the mental image of grandmoo in a pointy-toed slingback would totally net me Worst Daughter Ever!
Ah, but how many of you delived YOUR kids with a broken foot? (I made them take my cast off a day or so before Karen was born...the thought of being up there with the "don't worry, we have special stirrups for mothers in casts" was too much to bear!
I had _all_ the drugs. It would not have mattered either time, as far as I was concerned, I didn't have legs.
Ephiphany, you might not have had legs, but at least you had the ability to poop on your nurse, if need be. Grin.
Only 5 more weeks and that time will fly by faster than you expect. This is a special time in your life and you know what? no matter the issues you are dealing with right now you get the PRIZE at the end. Love you sweetie!
Ah, it doesn't matter. By 33 weeks, my kids were 5 and 3 weeks old respectively. We didn't even have a crib when the first one came. Her room was still full of all the crap we'd collected of our own, no paint, no curtains, nada. And I'd likely have been no more ready had they waited til they were cooked. This just gave me an excuse.
On the day the docs told me Ruthie would be going home the following day (not much time, eh?) I figured out real fast exactly what I needed. The rest fell into place later.
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