There have been many mentions about how uncomfortable I must be with this fully cooked human that has over taken the front of my body.
The truth? I’m not really that uncomfortable.
Yes, I get heartburn from really weird stuff, I can’t roll over in bed without getting winded, getting off the couch (or a chair, or out of the car, or off the ground) is comical and I certainly won’t be winning any awards for leaping buildings in a single bound (Let’s be honest, I won’t even be circling them on the ground in a graceful manner. TAXI!) But overall? I’m not bad.
I’m not one of those women who will be screaming at my doctor to “HURRY UP AND GET THIS BABY OUT OF ME ALREADY!“ I kind of really super duper wanted her in there in the first place, so I’m going to enjoy the time I have with her. She’s safe, she’s well fed and there are very few choking hazards in there. I am also not the type to take to drastic eviction methods (I’m looking at you castor oil) nor do I want to be induced. (Pitocin and I are not on speaking terms.)
I guess the hardest part is that I stink at surprises and acquiring babies is one of the last great surprises left. Could my water break in the Costco checkout line? Maybe I’ll have to poke Cody at 4 am and whisper “it’s time” or maybe I’ll birth a baby in the toilet, SURPRISE! (but really, no thank you on this last one.) Mozzi could easily be a boy, have dark hair and weigh 9 pounds (also, no thank you!!) I’ve had adoptive friends go from childless to parents before their milk expires and I’ve had dinner with pregnant friends only to find out 12 hours later they’re in a hospital snuggling a new baby that came out of them.
I can’t shake the package on this one. I can’t google the return address. I have no tracking number and no delivery guarantees.
I just get to enjoy it.