Hope

I spent 20 minutes today, just sitting in the nursery’s rocking chair. [I haven’t posted the nursery photos at this point because it’s not quite all put together yet, but almost.] I think I’m hoping that staring blankly at the crib, changing table, and swing will jar my brain into gear, start cajoling the oxytocin to kick in and, therefore, labor. I can hope. It’s all I have left these days. In fact, I find it’s what I do most days at this point. I start fantasizing what my body will feel like with this little guy on the outside of it. You would think I’d be dreaming about holding him, but no, I’m imagining how much more comfortable I will feel when he’s in my arms as opposed to in my belly. My mom always says it’s God’s preparation for the pregnant woman in the last days of her pregnancy. He makes it so incredibly uncomfortable for her to bear that she is willing to undergo the most excessive torture imaginable to have out with it. You could say I’m there. I’m already talking about having him cut out, with or without the anesthesia. Don’t all pregnant women start talking like this at the end?