We are days from d-day… I can’t go in public anymore without concerned looks from the general population, all thinking “Damn girl, should you be out with that thing?” I keep tripping over my dog, because my belly hides me from seeing him at my feet. We are all just waiting for the last day of work, counting down the remaining to-dos and the list is almost non-existent. Even Sofia is impatiently asking, “When is Ellie going to get here?”
I am physically over being pregnant but equally nervous about delivery this go around as I was last time. It’s an impending bodily invasion, mixed with complete excitement at seeing her new little face, and at seeing Sofia become a big sister.
The weirdest thing about these last few days is I know I will never have them again–at least if things go according to plan. We aren’t having more than two, so this is basically all she wrote for my fertile shenanigans.
It’s like giving two weeks notice at a job you really love. The last two weeks drag on and there is so much bullshit you encounter and are relieved to be rid of. You know it’s a necessary close to a chapter in your life. But, then there are the sentimental moments too–the finality of knowing you will never have the experience there again. I won’t ever be woken up in the middle of the night because someone’s hiccuping in my belly. I will never have the best of excuses not to do dishes or to demand weird foods at my whim. It will no longer be acceptable to wear elastic pants (at least for a few more decades…)
Even more bizarre, I will soon enter an existence where the next milestones of my womanhood no longer include being the bride-to-be or mother-to-be, but something else-to-be.