T-minus 12 hours until I am scheduled to go into the hospital to be induced with my second child. My emotions are overflowing and I don’t know where to start.
The realities that this could always be my last pregnancy (having struggled with infertility before), that these are the last baby kicks I feel, that this is the last time random strangers beginning beautiful conversations with me about pregnancy once they see my belly, are just a few bits running through my head. Then, if we decide and are able to have a third child, once I’m past the gruesome first 19 weeks of extreme nausea and fatigue, I truly love being pregnant. I feel beautiful and I receive lovely compliments from all around that make me glow. Knowing that will all go away in a few hours frightens me.
Also, the realization that it’ll take months to ‘get my body back’, the body that I am and always will be self conscious about. And that I won’t be able to wear tight fitted clothing without extreme sucking in again until (or if) I’m pregnant again.
Then, there’s the flip side. Knowing that I’ll be able to comfortably walk again, chase after my sweet Liam, exercise again (it’s been 14 weeks since I went on a run) and sleep better (with the exception of the painful swollen breasts I’ll have during the first year of this baby’s life). All good things.
Despite my effort to stay positive, my fears creep back in. I could go on and on about my fears of sleep deprivation on top of having to maintain Liam’s energetic schedule, the very real possibility that I could fall back into postpartum depression or even questioning how in the world there will be enough love in my heart to share between these two children.
This doesn’t even begin to cover the fears I have of the actual labor, delivery and recovery. You see, I was 40 weeks and 4 days when I delivered Liam. I was also induced with him, but it was 7 days before my scheduled induction date. I went in for my routine 41 week appointment, had an ultrasound to determine a weight range for the baby, and decided with the doctors and my husband that I should return to the hospital 2 hours later for an induction. There was no time for me to build any anxiety over what was about to happen. It just happened (the best form of induction, if you ask me).
I’m about to read my son books and put him to bed for the last time before I’m a mother of two. This is the last moment that I’ll get to witness my son as an only child. I’ll be at the hospital by the time he wakes up for preschool in the morning. He has no idea what’s coming, yet I’m soaking up every ounce of cuddles with my first born, while my unborn child kicks and stretches from inside. The next time I see my beautiful Liam’s face will (hopefully) be tomorrow when his grandparent’s bring him to the hospital to meet his new baby brother/sister.
I’m worried about him. Liam has no clue what all of this means. I seriously doubt he even understands what it means to say ‘baby tummy’ like he’s been doing for the last few months, especially considering the fact that he also points to his father’s stomach and his stomach and says baby tummy. (Note: we need to work on more anatomy later.) But, the sweet kisses on my ‘baby tummy’ from Liam melt my heart every time. Without even knowing it, he shows unconditional love for me and for this new baby. Despite the hope and encouragement that Liam will be an excellent big brother, I still have many self-doubts running through my head:
Did we give him enough time to be an only child? Did I spend enough one-on-one time with him before shaking his world all around? Can I have just one more day? Did we make the right decision to induce tomorrow?
I’m a very analytical person (I was a math and computer science major in college, my husband an engineering and computer science) and looking at the data alone with the statistics of how big this baby could be tomorrow and the increased risk of a caesarean if we allow the baby to get any bigger, we came up with delivery on his/her due date. It’s not the delivery I wanted, especially having been induced with my first child. I’ve always wanted the classic laboring at home and then heading to the hospital hours later scenario. Knowing that being induced tomorrow will require me to be constantly hooked up to monitors and strapped down by an IV filled with Pitocin, freaks me out. Knowing that this induction could have the potential to not cause me to progress into full labor like I should, resulting in a caesarean also scares me. It’s not what I would have liked, but it’s my story. Making this decision was so hard and I still question it, but in the end we’ll have a baby tomorrow and that’s exciting. Also, I’m a good candidate for a smooth delivery and I tend to over analyze the what-ifs (hence the freak-out session), but there’s a good chance that things will go smoothly. Fingers crossed!
However, change is always a scary thing. Ask anyone who knows me well and I’m not one for change. I’m a planner and like to know what to expect. However, knowing what to expect and knowing exactly when I’ll be arriving at the hospital to deliver this baby is terrifying.
I hope and pray that all will be just fine and that the baby and I will be in good hands throughout our birth story. The only thing I can do now is try my very best to sleep tonight, knowing this will be my last slumber before I become a mother of two.