So it’s May. That’s the month before June. The month before my brother’s birthday, my anniversary, Flag Day, oh, and the day I am supposed to engage in the “peaceful, fulfilling, and life-affirming” experience of birth that is “my right as a mother” (at least according to Hypnobirthing: does this book come with customer satisfaction guaranteed?).
This time is different than the last, which of course is to be expected. I’m a couple years older, I’ve been through labor before. But a little while ago, in the middle of the night when all the “ACK” thoughts decide to play whiffle ball in my head, I realized:
Last time I lived in a townhouse where it was easy to leave; now I live in a house, where the responsibility for household broken stuff as well as yard stuff falls on me – ack.
Last time I lived in a townhouse that didn’t allow pets; now I live in a house with fish, a cat, and a dog, who really dig it when I feed them on a regular basis – ack.
Last time my hubby, my brother, and I loaded into the car and drove a few minutes to the hospital; this time, my hubby and I will load into a car and drive farther across town to the new (oh so pretty) hospital . . . except we also have the fruits of our last visit to deal with, a.k.a. JJ – ack.
It’s all cool, really: got folks who’ve volunteered to take care of us and all our stuff. So that’s in place. As well as a birthing plan, signed hospital registration papers, installed infant car seats, etc.
But there’s still something missing . . . oh, that’s right: JJ. Is he prepared? Can he really be prepared? How soon will it be before he says “all done”?
He thinks my gargantuan belly is fairly amusing. He’ll look at my popped out belly button and say, “Mama, owie!” Yes, yes it’s hurts. When Half Pint plucks my sciatic nerve, JJ asks, “Wha happened?” to which I respond, “Your brother’s getting on my nerve!” (Literally.) He yells at my belly, “Hey, buvver, whatta you doin, aman?” – He’s sporting a Jamaican accent as of late, must be the Caribbean cd I got at the library.
But he’s also cuddling as of late. Like, laying his head on my stomach as if to say, “You wouldn’t *possibly* be bringing something into my life that would usurp my place that *the* Little Prince, would you?” He’s throwing lots of tantrums. Hunger strikes are a fairly common occurrence; lack of sleep is as well. And he neeeeeds band-aids: lots and lots of band-aids.
So, just like he decided to be born early, and to become a toddler early, and do seemingly *everything* early (except count to thirty – he’ll count to twenty, but everything after that is just twenty-three), JJ has decided to go through “Big Brother Anxiety” early – I should’ve known. At least we’ll be pros by the time Half Pint comes – one other thing to check off the list. 