Baby Jimmy is due December 7th. If he decides not to come on or before the 7th, I’m scheduled to be induced on Tuesday, December 10th.
I am ready.
I can’t wait to have Jimmy out from inside me. I can’t wait to lose the belly and get back to my old size. And I am ready to become Jimmy’s caretaker. Yeah, I am scared sh*tless over the responsibility of it. The sheer amount of effort. The change in focus from myself to my son. But it’s time. I’ve spent 39 years concentrating on me. And it’s gotten rather boring. It’s time to change things up.
How I am going to do it, I have no idea. I thank God for my support system. My mom and sister and my husband and his daughters will all help out. Plus, if I am truly terrible at it, I can always hire a nanny to help out.
I really wish he’d come sooner rather than later. I am tired of this limbo land. Everything is on hold, waiting for Jimmy’s arrival. I can’t even say I am enjoying the last vestiges of my old life because this current life is not at all my old life. I am fat and swollen and constantly tired, constantly peeing, never drinking, rarely moving, horribly dependent and not free or able to do much at all.
Eddie wants to go to a Christmas Party this weekend and I just simply don’t want to be seen in this state. What do I wear? The only thing that fits is a bed-sheet toga and a pair of his sneakers. Not exactly my idea of how I want to be seen.
It was just the other day I had a realization: Jimmy is a rebel. When I first discovered I was pregnant, the doctors seemed to delight in telling me that I needed to be aware that with my age, there was high probability that there would be problems. After tons of testing, everything showed normal. It was two weeks ago, the doctors wanted to induce me because my blood pressure was a little high. After testing, they sent me home. Despite everyone’s predictions, Jimmy continues to do fine. Maybe that’s why I feel very calm. I am not even a little worried. I feel really confident and certain all will be fine.