I am an optimist. I have, in general, faith that everything will work out the way it is supposed to, and that with with a little (or a lot) of effort we can make our selves, our lives, our communities better before we leave.
Except for pregnancy. I pretty much enter every pregnancy expecting it not to work out, not to take, not to be easy, and not to end happily. This is pretty counter to my basic personality, and doesn't quite explain why I enter every pregnancy excited and happy and... thankful. As well as fearful. This pregnancy, which was a bit of a surprise, a sort of earlier than planned kind of surprise (not the sort of Oh My Goodness! How did that happen?! surprise) I've never had any real feelings of worry. I've felt confident and excited from the beginning, as if everything would be just fine, and we would indeed have a healthy, happy baby in our arms come February. I've felt sick, I've been exhausted, I've had moments of clarity in which I see many years of stepping on little toys in the night and making the trip up and down the hall in the night and not sleeping during the night, but I've always seen three little people at the end of the hall.
I am what they call high-risk. My OB introduced herself to me several months ago by reading my chart and saying that I'm one of those women OB's ward off with crossed fingers and secret prayers. And then she said she thought she could help. And she has. I've seen her nearly every single week of this pregnancy, and she has kept me from preterm labor, kept me from being so sick and everything seeming so scary and tenuous.
And here we are. Almost 36 weeks. Almost baby-time.
I seem to have gotten rid of ALL of the baby stuff when we moved, the house is still in uproar from the flood last week, and the money we spent fixing it was the money we were going to spend buying an Arm's Reach Mini Bed-side Sleeper, the only piece of baby furniture that will fit beside the bed in our tiny bedroom. We don't have a double stroller yet. My doctor will be out of town the week before the due date. I haven't gotten nearly as much food cooked and in the freezer as I wanted to. We haven't gotten quite as much school work done as I hoped we would have to be able to take a really great baby-cation and all just nest in and be cozy, but the thing is, I really don't care that much. Or at least, I'm not all that worried about it.
I mean, anyone who comes over to visit after the baby is born will be coming to see the baby, not the house, right? The baby's not going to roll off the bed in the first few weeks if it doesn't have a place of it's own to rest, right? I'll carry the baby in a sling for walks at first anyway- I don't need a double stroller this instant. That can wait til tax return time. We can always eat cereal and scrambled eggs, mac and cheese and Top Ramen- foods ABCD can cook. If the doctor's gone, well, she's gone. There's nothing I can do about that. And besides, EVERYTHING will be just fine. It just will. I am imperturbable. I am calm.
Now, let's see if I feel this calm AFTER the baby's born.