One week to d-day
Christmas Day, 1:17 in the morning. Baby is jazzed up on granny robson's shortbread cookies, which means mommy doesn't sleep.
Every time the baby moves, which is still constantly, I can feel new kinds of pressure and strange, sometimes painful twinges or cramps. Until now, I've been more anxious about the prospect of living with the baby rather than the process of delivering it.
Giving birth to a baby has to be one of the biggest tests of mettle in the human experience. But with hardly a beesting to my name, I have no idea how I'll handle pain. I might completely fall apart. My brain tells me that's okay, that this is no time for pride.
But some other, baser instinct in me would rather be brave.
Maybe it's vanity, or some kind of hero complex, I don't know. But there's a part of me that hopes to discover some superhuman version of myself when the big moment arrives. I hope I’ll be inclined to just get down to business, rather than wasting energy by indulging the ‘fight or flight’ instinct. But then, maybe I won't be able to cope. This whole experience will probably be much more intense than I can imagine right now.
This whole notion of performance anxiety is somewhat of a surprise. I know once it's all said and done I won't care what happens. I suppose we'll be too busy with the baby to dwell on the mechanics of it anyway.
This picture was taken the morning after our wedding. I can't feel afraid when I think of this moment. Somehow, it doesn't seem possible for fear and this kind of blessedness to co-exist in my brain at the same time.
I'm going to try and keep this image top of mind when the baby starts, in the hopes there won't be room for anything else.
sweetsalty kate
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