I’m being induced tomorrow at six o’clock in the morning.
Today is officially the last day I will ever be pregnant (barring some miracle, of course).
I’m struggling. To be honest, I didn’t think I would be.
I don’t know how many times today I cried for my son, who at not even three doesn’t even really realize what’s going on: even as I’m telling him the plan for the night, tomorrow, and so on.
I’m mourning his time as an only child, in a way I didn’t expect. I kept pulling him close to me and reiterating how much I love him, and that I will always love him.
I feel like a fucking mess.
I’m eight years older than my only sibling, so the three year apart sibling dynamic isn’t one I’ve actually lived with. My mom and her sisters are the closest siblings I know, and their between two and three years apart, so I’m hopeful, but the rest of the cousins on my mom’s side aren’t close with their siblings: even though their age gaps are closer than my brother and I’s, and we’re the closest of the siblings. (That doesn’t really make a lot of sense, does it?)
I’m worried G is going to resent my husband and I. Or worse, R. I’m worried that he’s going to remember his time as an only child and mourn it–therefore resenting us for having another child. Or…maybe worse, he won’t remember it, and remember how much he’s loved. I’m worried that as the older sibling we’re going to have expectations for him that make him feel that we’re asking too much.
Let’s be clear, that isn’t my plan. But…I also know sometimes we ask a lot of our older kids.
I want him to be a good big brother. I want him to love R, the way I know that I will. I want him to know how loved he is by both his father and I.
I want tomorrow to go well, and to not feel like this chapter in my life is ending on such a final note. I know I don’t want more children after this, and yet. Every kick. Picking clothes our of my maternity drawer. The last OB appointment, has induced nostalgia that I really didn’t expect.
I’m so excited for R to be here, to see him, to see what he looks like, and I am so damn ready to not be pregnant: to bend at the waist, to see my toes, to be able to take an ibuprofen, to have a beer and/or glass of wine. But. It’s still a bittersweet day, and hormones aren’t making that any easy to deal with.
And…I think it’s worse too, because I’m being induced. When we thought he was coming at 35 weeks, I didn’t have time to panic about these things, I was more panicked about the logistics, and the being flown out, and all that stuff.
I’m a chronic overthinker, and the past couple days are the best example-and worst case of it. I keep overthinking, before he went to soccer tonight–after which he went with our friend for the night because we have to leave so early–I found myself thinking, this is the last time I’ll see him as an only child. True, but not helpful. I bawled.
Mamas, please tell me I’m not the only one who’s gone through a trainwreck of emotions before baby two!