I’ve never been very good at waiting. Of the four kids in my family, I was the only one born early (four days) and fast (only a couple of hours, I’m told). My mom’s joke? “She was in a hurry to get here and she hasn’t stopped moving since.” It’s a good analogy for my life, if I really think about it. Patience is not a virtue I claim. EVER.
So, imagine my surprise when my magical due date (11/11/11!) came and went and still no baby. “OK,” I thought, “it’ll be tomorrow. Fashionably late.” And then Saturday dissolved into Sunday, which turned into Monday, and so on. And I’m still waiting. “Hey kid,” I keep thinking, “you’re past fashionable and on to just plain rude.” But you cannot boss around the unborn. Lesson #1. See? I’m learning things already.
My irritation is mounting with every hour that passes and with every “Is there a baby yet?” phone call. No, no baby. Still waiting. I’ve made my husband Blaine start taking the calls, for fear I may bite the head off of some poor, unsuspecting family member or friend who just wants to be supportive. I figure since this kid clearly takes after his or her easy-going dad, Blaine can field the questions while I watch back-to-back seasons of Grey’s Anatomy and scowl. I told you, I’m not going to win any patience competitions. I. Do. Not. Wait. (And Grey’s Anatomy isn’t even that great a distraction.)
But, the fact of the matter is — and this is Lesson #2, I think — that waiting will be a part of this next adventure and I’d better get used to it. Waiting to go into labour is one thing, but I imagine patience is paramount to being a parent. I’m Type A, I admit that. But maybe this baby is Type B or L or R, and time and again, I’ll have to slow down and adjust my pace. I understand that. I’m just scared. And let’s be honest, I’m not off to a great start.
Back to the Big Wait. Stay tuned.