There's a woman in my life who recently started a blog, and I'm sure she doesn't want me sharing her name or blog site, so I will just say this: I follow her blog religiously. This week I checked my subscriptions more often than ever before, hoping for a new post. Finally, yesterday, TWO posts came. I was so delighted. I read along, clearly hearing her voice behind the typed-out words, and loved being reconnected with her in this way.
I say that I waited in anticipation for her posts, which I'm sure some of you (maybe just ONE of you?) do the same for my blog. We have this expectation, this anxiousness, when really attached to someone's blog, that the writer should always be writing more often than they do. And if this is you (you sorry soul for picking my blog as that blog in your life) I'm sorry for my inconsistency. But this other woman, she has a methodology of keeping herself accountable for posting which I am stealing from right beneath her nose. At the end of each post, she leaves you with the title or idea for the next post. That way she's already scheduling herself to develop a new idea, preparing her words in anticipation for sitting down to write, and, guess what, she actually follows through. (Guilty woman here for doing QUITE the opposite.) And, since she hasn't published her next post, but has left the title, I stole that too: "waiting on Nora".
Well, for the last few weeks, Mr. Allen and I have been anxiously awaiting Nora Jean's arrival. I had a doctor tell me (almost 4 weeks ago now) that this little girl was most definitely coming early, as she had already made it to her VERY low departure position, head-down and down and down. She was low. And the doctor said it could be "any day really". So we hurried. We bought all the "things" that we needed for Nora, put all the pieces into their new home, turned this apartment from a (quite dirty) dumping spot of two post-college adults into a home for a family of three. Over the weeks I've had spurts of urges to sweep, to scrub, to clean all corners. Was this nesting? Probably. Was this insanity? A little. You see, over the weeks, my mind was going crazy on this emotional roller coaster of "this baby is COMING" to "well, where is she?" And each time I cleaned a new corner, or rearranged her drawers (too many times for clothes that aren't being worn or messed up), I thought "maybe this is the key to letting her know it's time; maybe she'll come now". And to be honest, I kept hitting this wall.
This week I hit it the hardest. And I backed up, got a better running start, and would hit it again, day after day. It's been a hard week. The doctor (a different one than before) told me Monday that (after three weeks of no progression) I was finally making progression: I was 3 centimeters dilated and, as she put it, "on the launching pad". She kept telling me that I was really ready to go. We scheduled a routine due-date ultrasound for Friday with the expectation that really there was no need to schedule this appointment since I would clearly be delivering before this. And my hopes went high, sky-rocketed really.
And then, a day passed... and another. And although baby was moving and shaking inside, she seemed to have no interest in coming outside. And I hit that wall again. Yes, I cried. Yes, they are probably pregnancy tears (although really, people, I think I have set the world record for tears shed during the 9 months of pregnancy.) And at night, Mr. Allen would reassure me. We would talk about how long we've waited thus far and how close she is. And we would talk about the fact that we probably wouldn't even have to get up for work in the morning because we would already be at the hospital with our little girl. And then the mornings would come, (5:30, you kill me), and I would run myself right into that wall again.
I still was so hopeful though. She just has to come out. She doesn't get an option, so she must be coming. And Thursday, I went to work, had a false alarm of losing my mucus plug, and after waiting for contractions to start for 6 hours, realized my error and realized that we were still back waiting like always. And, luckily and barely, I made it home before the water works started again.
I was. am. so frustrated with this waiting. I know I am the most dramatic and impatient mother-to-be you have ever heard of. You have been thinking that while reading this whole post. Feel free to say it, I know it's true. I realize I'm ridiculous. But that doesn't change how disappointed and frustrated and anxious I am. I've been waiting on edge because of the doctor's news for almost a month now. That's a long time. And you probably, if you follow me on facebook, have been so annoyed with my constant Nora-themed statuses. I'm even annoyed with them.
So, yesterday, I decided to drop my expectations; to lower the bar, I guess. Not to say that I'm not anxiously awaiting meeting this little girl. Not at all, I can't wait to see her eyes and kiss every inch of her, and watch my husband fall in love. The thoughts of those moments captivate me completely. But I've decided to just wait; and to not expect. Last night I went to bed, (yes still staring at the empty crib for a few moments) with the expectation to just wake up in the morning and be a pregnant mom-to-be. And I think, maybe, maybe, I can experience peace here in this sense of waiting. Because I surely wasn't experiencing it before.
And I want to make my thankfulness for my best friend, Danielle, public. Because she has been outstanding in the best friend category this week. She followed my excitement peak on Monday with the news of progression. She touched base with me daily this week to see how I was feeling physically and remind me of her excitement for our family. And Thursday morning, when I was really facing frustration, she talked me down (with distraction) for probably an hour. Then later in the morning, as I thought we were mere hours from labor starting, she reflected my excitement. And when I realized my error later in the afternoon, she sent me an encouraging verse and prayers as she knew that my spirits had fallen. And she continues to amaze me with her support in each moment, knowing what to say and how to share my emotions with me. So, thank you, Danielle, for your consistency this week; for knowing me so well in these moments of pregnancy craziness where I don't even know how you can follow my emotional patterns.
And, of course, thank you to my Mr. Allen. You have been my rock for 9 months (and a few years before that)... for 9 months of marriage that have been tainted (cursed?) with a pregnant wife. Thank you for clearing up my many tears, for dealing with my ridiculousness of irrational thinking and acting, for comforting me, for holding me, for being my best friend, for getting me (again, how do you possibly do that with this roller coaster of a wife?!). I love you so much. And, in response to your Valentine's Day facebook post (first ever, and obviously the best ever): Thank you for letting me have your baby. Soon we will be three.
Next post: Labor and Delivery
(So this post could happen anytime between now and a week from Monday)