It shouldn't happen to a seasoned mother. On the other hand, who but a person who is pregnant for the sixth time and has three little boys aged 2, 4 and 6 would forget that her new baby is due to disrupt her life in only six short weeks?
Me, that's who.
The past weeks have been a whirlwind of activities. We finally got our living area cleared of all the boxes, if we generously disregard the basement which is now completely filled up with boxes. Doug's been gone for 10 days to earn money which is running out the door in an alarming rate, the garden needed tending to, we had a homewarming party, my Dad's birthday, explosive diarrhea in a young child - just to make life more interesting -, problems with the electrical circuit in the house (wash or dry, don't wash and dry!), and excruciating nerve pain (me), the elderberry blossoms needed to be turned into syrup and all those strawberries scream to be made into jam... I've been sort of busy and distracted.
Yes, I got bigger. Yes, I had my checkups in what seemed to me very short intervals but which really were four weeks apart. Yes, I got less mobile and really fat and lazy. Yes, I am uncomfortable at nights, I have constant heartburn, and I grunt when I get up in the morning. You'd think that would have tipped me off. Or, you know, that calendar that marks the weeks on our kitchen wall. But no. Not me. August? Plenty of time!
And then Doug turns to me and says, you know, in six weeks we'll have a newborn in the house... and I immediately descended into a full-blown panic. Six weeks? How did that happen? I'm not ready yet!
Apart from the question whether one can ever really be ready for a new baby, here's my list of things-to-do before then:
- Get the a/c in the car repaired so that we don't overheat the baby when we bring her home or tote her around.
- Find the newborn clothing that's somewhere in some box in the basement. At least, I think that box is in the basement. I'm pretty sure.
- Wash and sort clothes (seasonally appropriate - the poor mite will have to do with lots of blues, that's just the fate of a girl-after-three-boys. Tough luck.)
- Wash and sort the little box of newborn pink clothes that some very nice people have given me to alleviate the blueness of it all.
- Find a space to put all that clothing away; which, ultimately, requires the purchase of a new linen closet so we can move the linens out of what is now Jacob's room and use the space in that wardrobe for the new baby.
- Try to find all the pieces of the swing and assemble it (believe me, with more than one child already in the household, a swing for the new baby is your best friend evah).
- Wherever did we put the "bucket" (AKA the car seat)? Will we spend money on a new seat cover that is not dark blue? Will we finally shell out the money for a base? (The answer is yes, I want a base. I so totally finally want a base, now that our car seat maker actually makes them!)
- The stroller. Hm. Somewhere in the basement, surely. The bassinet for the stroller... hm... in my Mom's attic? Maybe?
- I wanted to sew a crib set that is not blue and has no vehicles on it. Maybe I should finish sewing up the holes in the boys' pants, and the cushions for the terrace chairs that I have started first before I go out and buy more fabric. Hm.
- Make my mind up about the birth announcement.
- Talk my best friend into sending me some more items from the US past the evil German customs officers. (Presents! See? Nothing that I ordered, just presents!)
- And do I want to shell out the money for the hands-free electric milk pump that will make it possible for me to hand off one night-time feeding to my husband? (Hand pumps don't do a thing for me. I burst with milk, then my breasts see a hand pump and things sort of pucker up. Really.) Are some hours of sleep really worth all that money?
- Pre-cook and freeze three weeks' worth of dinners - for the time I'm in the hospital and for the first weeks at home. Otherwise, the pizza restaurant will belong to us for months to come. (Where is all my Tupperware? Ah, you guessed it. In some box somewhere in the basement, right.)
Things that are ready:
Yes, panic is an appropriate reaction, I think.
Oh, and here is a first picture. That weird growth on her cheek? It's part of the umbilical cord. (Yes, ultrasound pictures are freaky. But this one is actually kind of nice, no?)
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