Written on June 28:
I’m sitting on my bed with the laptop on what’s left of my lap–mostly my knees actually. Our second child is theoretically on its way–I’ve had very mild, inconsistent contractions since 6 pm last night. Every once in a while, they intensify, but there’s no reason to call a midwife or drive to a hospital yet. The baby isn’t due until Tuesday, the 30th, but everyone knows due dates are pretty arbitrary.
My son is with his grandparents and will go visit his cousins today. I just don’t think I can chase him around and keep his busy two-year old mind entertained. DH is frantically trying to finish our roof.
I just want to be done with it.
I wasn’t like this the first time. I was so nervous about labor/delivery and how much work a newborn would be. It’s not that I’m not nervous now, but we’ve gotten through it once and I know we’ll get through it again. I’m tired of being tired. I’m tired of not being able to get on the floor and really play with my son. I want to be able to drink a glass or two of wine.
I also want to meet my little girl. If she’s anything like her brother, she’s going to be amazing.