From the moment you see the two pink lines (or single blue line, or whatever indicator the test uses), the experience of finding out you’re carrying another life inside you is, among other things, an exercise in trying to get your shit together. Beyond the seemingly endless series of doctor’s appointments and questions about what and when to tell everyone in your life, there’s also the matter of making room in your already crowded existence for another person.
We live in a two bedroom house, so the first pregnancy wasn’t such a huge deal, spacewise. But now that we’re going to be four people under the same roof, logistics have begun to become an issue. Life is already very challenging with our soon to be 4-year-old. He’s still not sleeping through the night, and we’re still dealing with several less than charming personality quirks that come along with being this age.
My fears about when I’ll go into labor leave a bunch of questions about who will be around to pick up our son, who can drive my laboring ass to the hospital, who will be there in the room with me. The first time, we had a plan, which involved an all-adult cast. Now, there’s another wrinkle and who knows where anyone will be when it happens. I have a friend who is on standby (bless this woman, I swear), to either pick up my son or be there with me. It’s nice to have that as an option as an either/or.
I’m not really worried about labor itself. From my memory, there’s a bunch of stuff I want to have happen, but I remember enough to know that far too much of it is way beyond my control. I’ll do my best to be ready for it when the time comes. I’m hoping we can get to the hospital in time for the epidural, that they don’t have to give me a c-section and that my son will be born healthy and not need to stay away from me in the NICU. For all the planning, these are the things no one can promise and no one can control.
And, naturally, after all that is done, there’s the issue of naming the kid (still TBD), and figuring out feeding and sleeping schedules all over again. The idea that I’m going to have to divide my attention between two children and find a way to love each one equally is pretty terrifying. I’m not exactly looking forward to the sibling rivalry, the exhaustion, and the resettling we’re going to have to do as a family. I’m not a big fan of change or surprises. Wish me luck, guys.