Tuesday, November 1st, 2011
I love the home stretch. So exciting! To think that in a few months we’ll meet the little girl that’s thumping around inside my belly right now. The one who will cuddle with us on the couch, sit with us at the dinner table, ride next to Roy in the back seat of the car. The one who will join our family for the rest of our forever. The one who will complete us. It feels as if we’ve been three for so long now. Soon, we will be four.
Last week, I had my monthly preggo checkup and timed it with Roy’s well-child visit. This is always risky. Will the kid occupy himself as the doctor checks me out? Will he do so in a way that doesn’t involve crying, spilling Cheerios and/or shoving germy doctors’ office toys in his mouth? When he doesn’t, will I be able to talk him down from my reclined position the exam table? If not, will I be clothed enough to intercept him with my dignity in tact?
This visit went fairly well, in large part because after checking my knee reflexes, the doctor let Roy play with his little rubber hammer. Roy loves tools. He has his own toolbox he accesses daily so he can “fix it,” “it” being his toy trucks, or his stroller, or the cabinets Dad is working on. When the doctor handed him that hammer, his eyes met mine and I could almost feel the cogs moving upstairs. A hammer to fix people? Whoa. I made the distinction between regular hammer and Doctor Hammer immediately clear, with heavy emphasis placed on the fact that regular hammers are not for hitting people. He was too busy fixing the exam table to care.
I actually can’t believe how non-nonchalant that sounds. I used to be an expert worrier, the kind who figured that the more I worried, the more prepared I was for the inevitable. I worried so much that naturally, I worried having a kid would send me off into a paralyzing spiral of worry. Or, the other word for my obsessive worry: Anxiety.
The opposite happened. I’ve let go of an amazing amount of anxiety since having Roy. For me, it came down to two chief rationales. 1) I don’t want to raise my kids in a worry-filled environment. I know from experience that this isn’t fun. 2) Kids equal tons of potential worry. Realizing that, I decided to reserve my worry for the things that really “deserve” it. (I’m not perfect. Though I know worry doesn’t solve anything, that doesn’t mean I can cut it from my life completely. Or can I? It’s a worthy goal, isn’t it?)
That’s my philosophy in a nutshell, anyway. Child-free Berit probably wouldn’t buy any of it.
Parents.com’s week-by-week babytracker tells me the little girl is cauliflower-sized about now. We’re eating a lot of well roasted cauliflower around here lately, so I’m often holding one of these heads, and I have to say, that seems pretty big. But we are in the final trimester, where big is good. Perfect. Correct. Just three more months of growing to do.
And then we’ll be four.
Cauliflower photo credit: iStockphotoAdd a Comment