Here we are, in single digits. 9 weeks to go. The countdown is on. I mean, clearly, a due date is a rough guess, so there’s no guarantee I will make it 9 more weeks and really no way to know that I don’t have 11 weeks to go. Anything is possible.
But holy shit. 9 weeks isn’t much. It’s 63 days. Two months. Nothing at all.
We are ready. At home, we are ready. We have the necessities and can function with a child. Things are purchased and in place.
Physically, I am tired of being gigantic. I am physically really, really ready for this pregnancy to be over so I can wear regular pants again. And see my feet. And have a waist. And run 6 miles.
Mentally…well, that’s another story. I have never been so panicked about something in my life. I am so mentally nervous about everything. Birthing. Being a mom. Surviving the first few weeks. I am very mentally prepared, but also very, very anxious. I did so much research. I know literally every possible thing that can happen during labor and in a delivery room. I know what to expect. I know what to expect in the first few weeks. I know what to be prepared for from the first contraction to taking her home. But man, am I anxious.
Last night, we celebrated our one year wedding anniversary. In many ways, I never thought I would be here a year ago. I mean, we definitely wanted kids and getting pregnant was not a surprise because I understand science. But I couldn’t have imagined what the last year would look like last June. I couldn’t have imagined the struggle, the challenges, the emotions.
One thing I do know is that I hit the jackpot with my husband. He has been my number one fan and supporter through a pretty rough pregnancy. He is an even better partner than I imagined he would be. I am so grateful.
When I look back, this year just went by so fast. And I can’t believe it’s been 31 weeks of pregnancy already. I mean, I can. When I look down. But it’s just crazy. I guess I have 9 weeks to get my shit together.