Are You Ready?

Monday, July 21, 2014


Towards the end of my pregnancy, I remember people asking me: “Are you ready? Are you excited?” Was I ready? No. Was I ready to not be pregnant anymore? Yes. Gaining 51 pounds, not being able to see my toes, getting jabbed in the ribs and feeling like an Orca whale in the deep end of the neighborhood pool. Yep, I was over it.


I just didn’t know what to expect. I knew the obvious end result: 9 months of growing a tiny human and then said human would magically appear into this world. I feel so bad for Greg, because some nights I’d just sit up crying hysterically about how I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, and I’m not ready to be a mother yet. (Right, like I could just hold out for a little while longer while I prepared myself a little more.) Greg was so confused. Damn hormones. Like what the hell lady? You wanted a baby. You’re getting a baby. And NOW you’re freaking out?
In those last final moments in the delivery room, I remember having a slight panic attack. Hours had passed, there was a lot of pain, some just-get-through-it laughter, lots of tears… but when it was actually time and the nurses were getting out baby blankets and setting up the bassinet, I freaked. “So like, this is it? He’s going to be here?”  Umm, yep—that is why we’re here right? Great, now they think I’m crazy too.


And in a matter of minutes, I suddenly was thrown into motherhood. It wasn’t what I pictured it to be. Me smiling and kissing and ooohing and ahhing over this newborn babe. No. I was hysterically crying—again. It was like one of those uncontrollable laughing-but-you’re-crying cries because you don’t know exactly what you’re feeling. It was weird. And beautiful at the same time. And dude, I had a baby. 
Those next few days in the hospital went by so quickly. I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing, Greg and I were freaking parents, PARENTS. And every time doctors or nurses would come in, I felt like they assumed we knew all this stuff. Did I read the books? The blogs? Yes. But this is like, real life. Wait, he’s gotta eat again? Did you change him? I can’t freaking swaddle to save my life. Again. Crazy town. I’m sure as they rolled me outta there all the nurses said in unison “Phew, Good luck to her!”
And now, with Lucca being 9 1/2 months old, somehow we’ve made it this far with a healthy and happy baby and Greg and I have been pretty damn happy too. I still don’t know what the hell I’m doing. Sometimes I stand in the checkout line at Target thinking, “Holy shit. This is MY kid I’m pushing around in the cart. And crap, he just ate my to-do list”. Great days, frustrating days, emotionally draining days…everyday a new experience.
Was I ready? No. But can you ever really be ready for this?

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