This is month 7--I think there's less than 60 days to go until my first due date. Yes, I have two, because apparently I can't keep track of my body well enough to satisfy the doctors. That makes things fun when people ask when I'm due: "Well, either the third or the eleventh, depending on who you believe." I think my Dad has me down for the ninth. I'm kind of enjoying being pregnant, which I'm sure disgusts a lot of women out there. No, I didn't have bad morning sickness. No, I don't have a ton of ugly stretch marks. No, I don't have many cravings for weird stuff. I think my big belly is kind of cute. The problem is that I'm growing out of clothes, but I can't buy more because everything we own has suddenly decided to fall apart in ways that cost lots of money. Oddly enough, I still feel okay about buying my husband new clothes. Maybe I'm not all that selfish after all . . .
I think I've given a lot of people the wrong idea about how I feel about the baby. Let me be clear: I'm excited. I think it will be fun in a lot of ways. I've always wanted to be a mommy, and now I am. BUT: the idea of being the place where the buck stops scares the snoopies out of me. As I said, being a mommy has been my goal ever since I can remember. That probably stems somewhat from the fact that I had such a good mom. So of course, now I'm having heebie-jeebies about whether I'll be good enough. Sure, I thought about this kind of stuff before I got pregnant, but now that the day(s) are so close, I'm realizing that this is going to mean a lot of changes. I don't think I realized, when discussing children with my husband, that I, not WE, will be parenting this child. Yes, he's a terrific guy, excited about being a father, willing to help me with whatever. But if he's at school and/or work all day, that's not going to help me a whole lot. So yes, I sound nervous when I talk about actually having the baby. I bring up lots of concerns. That's because I'm scared.
