I'm officially delivering an eviction notice to this little bundle of joy. Little tasks are getting harder. Simply picking up John feels like hoisting an elephant over my head. Walking up the stairs from the basement makes me breathless like I've just finished a half-marathon. Cleaning up toys from the floor requires me to do full squats since bending at my non-existent waist just isn't happening any more.
We're 60 days from our due date. With that - I find myself mixed between excitement, anxiety, fear, hope, and happiness. Part of me can't wait to meet our little addition. I'm excited to have a newborn in the house again (even with the sleepless night that come with it). Both Matt and I are really looking forward to seeing John interact with his sibling. I'm also looking forward to not carrying around a bowling ball in front of me....(but that's a little selfish)
At the same time - I worry about being able to handle two little ones at the same time. I know Matt will take a week off to help with the adjustment, my mom and sister will be out of school for the summer and willing to assist, and my mother-in-law is planning on spending as much time as possible up here - just like she did when John was born (although I think we're going to ask her to come up at the beginning of August when I lose my mom and sister to school).
Additionally, we're still not settled in our rental house. We should be moving in at the first of the month. I'm worried about getting things put in place, John getting used to a new setting, and filling the freezer with some meals - all while being 8 months pregnant.
Perhaps the thing that has surprised me most is that I have recently been thinking a LOT about John's delivery/birth. My head tells me that every pregnancy/delivery is very different. I know this! Yet, I find myself worried about all the complications we faced with John's delivery. Frankly, I didn't handle the contractions well. Then again, neither did John as was evident by his decreasing heart rate. He was delivered with forceps resulting in a very, very long and painful healing process. John wasn't breathing at birth and received an initial APGAR score of 1. We spent 4 months getting blood transfusions and meeting hematologists to later find out that my breast milk was culprit and was attacking his red blood cells. These are things I NEVER want to go through again... I'm scared.
I'm hopeful these fears will pass. I've got an appointment with my midwife on Monday. I'll bring these things up then. But I also have to talk to her about the past week because I've had some bleeding. The doctor has examined me, saw nothing to worry about and I'll be getting an ultrasound tomorrow to check on the internal things. Nonetheless, my stress levels are a little high. THIS TOO SHALL PASS!