When You Count Down The Days

Soon enough we’ll meet the ever active little boy that’s been cozily growing for about 9 months now. Well, maybe not soon enough because soon enough seemed like a little while ago when the major discomforts of carrying a child started. The idea that he’ll come when he wants to occurs to me more on days where I feel the most miserable. He’ll be here when he wants, which I hope is soon. Physically I’m beyond ready for him. Now we have everything we could need for him, so we’re definitely ready for when he wants. Which I’ll repeat, I hope is soon.

It didn’t occur to me sooner, that I wasn’t the only one who was anxious. My parents since leaving for vacation calls daily, sometimes twice daily. Each call is started with a “how are you feeling? Trip to the hospital yet?” Part of me wonders if they are anxious for him to be born or anxious that he would be born before their vacation ended. My son, who’s also with them since we didn’t think it was fair he missed our usual trip because I couldn’t go, also is excited and anxious to meet him. So anxious that he admits that he doesn’t want to be gone when it happens. He assures me that his brother will wait though, because he’s too awesome of a big brother.

Then there is my sweet and overly excited husband. This is the same person that the day after the baby shower had to go out and buy everything else we needed because “you never know when he’ll come”. Then proceeded to spend the rest of the night assembling everything even though he had to wake up early in the morning to drive across state for a class for his job. It seems every hour I get a call or texts of “just wondering how you’re feeling”. I don’t translate that as a concern for how I’m actually feeling; it’s a way to ask “are you in labor yet?”.

As the time comes closer, you realize that everyone is just as anxious as you. All your family and friends want to meet your newborn almost as much as you and your partner do. He’ll arrive when he’s ready however he’s ready. For me, I’m convinced after my first one that all my children are going to make an exciting entrance into this world. I hope I’m wrong, and the only exciting entrance he makes is the excitement of meeting him and not that I give birth on the side of the street while out for a walk.

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