Expecting you

I haven't gotten to that birth story yet, but I have a pre-birth story to share. In my anxiety the evening before the induction, I had a lot of mayhem banging around in my brain, and it came out as this post, which I wasn't ready to share before the baby arrived. So here it is now. The emotions of the last hours of my pregnancy...

My dear baby,

It is the night of Tuesday, September 14, 2010. Tomorrow morning at 6:30 a.m., I am supposed to call the OB unit of the hospital where you are to be born. If they haven't had a run of emergencies or unexpected patients, I will be going in at 7:30 to have my labor induced. It will be 4 days before your official due date.

I didn't want very many specific things in the course of this pregnancy, but I had sincerely hoped I would have the experience of going into labor on my own, since I was induced with your big sister and brother. It just seems like a woman who has had three children should at least know what it's like to go into labor. To have those hours of wondering "Is this it?" followed by that moment of knowing that it definitely is, followed by the trip to the hospital. I won't know that, unless something miraculous happens in the next few hours.

The doctor has said you are likely "huge," "a giant," and, finally, at our last check-up, she amended the prediction to "maybe just really long." So tomorrow we shall see. Either way, being induced feels a little sketchy, because all signs point to you being healthy, and predicting your size is a pretty inexact science at this juncture. But if I were a doctor, I guess I'd like to have babies born on Wednesdays instead of Sundays too. And I don't feel like I can fight or push or struggle against this course of action, simply because of the "what if?" factor. What if you are huge, you get stuck, and something terrible happens? I can put aside my fantasy of rushing to the hospital in the middle of the night to avoid that outcome, and the lifetime of guilt that would follow it. Really, I can. It is okay. In this rare case, life is indeed the destination...the journey is barely worth a mention when it's all said and done.

So here I sit. I have done all I need to do. All I can do. We are "ready." I'm actually lying in bed right now typing this. Daddy is asleep on my left. The bassinet where you will sleep in just a couple short nights is on my right. Your brother and sister are tucked in their beds, and if they're not asleep, they're at least putting on a good show of it. I'd like to go to sleep. I should go to sleep. But I can't.

I can't stop thinking of you. This is different. When I was expecting your brother, I spent the whole time worrying about your sister and how she would handle the birth of a sibling. I actually got fairly close to driving myself insane over it. A few short minutes after your brother was born and my heart swallowed him up whole, I realized that I had enough for both of them. So this time, I'm not worried about your big sister or your big brother. I'm worried about you.

I once read a quote from a labor nurse saying that it was typical of third-time moms to be extremely anxious...possibly the most anxious mothers. On it's face, that doesn't make much sense. Why would someone who has done this twice before be scared to do it again? But the quote went on to say that women about to have their third child are scared because they tend to feel like they are asking for too much. If God has already given you two healthy and beautiful children, aren't you pushing the limits by asking for lightning to strike in the same place for a third time?

Although it hasn't plagued me throughout the pregnancy, that is where my emotions are right now. I have had, with you, the healthiest of my three pregnancies. I know how this whole birth thing works and how it feels, so there shouldn't be much to fear. But here I am, pretty amazingly scared. The only person in this house awake. The only person in this house scared.

It's because I want you so badly. I want to be your mother. I want to hold you after sharing my body with you for what seems like an eternity but has only been a moment. I want to see your face. I want to name you. I want to dress you, bathe you, care for you, feed you, carry you, stare at you, and love you. Those things are so close right now, if I think about any one of those acts, the tears prick up in my eyes with the wanting. And I need you to be born safely for any of it to happen. For some reason, being perhaps 24 hours from your birth feels like 10 million years right now. You are kicking my laptop right now. You are safely in my body. But now all I want is to have you safely in my arms.

I don't think I've ever wanted a baby as much as I want you. When I was pregnant with your sister, I didn't know enough to know what it was I was wanting. When I was pregnant with your brother, I was too scared for your sister to appreciate the expecting of him. But this time, it is pure want. You are the third child, the asking for too much child, the supremely easily conceived child representative of embarrassingly good fortune. I am so scared about the hours between this moment and the moment of your birth. The fruits of me asking for too much are right there...so close. I am reaching, reaching, reaching for you right now. I can almost touch you, little baby I so purely want.

But I can't hold you yet. So I am praying. I am praying, praying, praying that you arrive safely. Please be born healthy. Please. Please. Please. I am reaching out for you right now, with every cell of my body I am willing you to come to me safely. I love you so much, my sweet baby. Dear child, your clothes may never be new, but I want you to know in this moment that your mother has never wanted a baby the way she wants you. She has never longed to hold a baby the way she longs for you. You are the gift wished for by a woman who has already been given too much. You are precious. You are so painfully precious.

Please come to me tomorrow so I can finally hold you. Please make it to me safely. I am here, waiting to love you. I have been waiting to love you for all of my life.