Each time someone sees my pregnant belly, they ask me when I’m due and then exclaim, “You must be so excited!” Actually, I’m not. Seven months into my third pregnancy, and I’m not over-the-moon excited. I mean, I’m happy I’m pregnant and having another child. I’m happy I’m healthy and loved by friends and family. And there are moments when it’s absolutely perfect. But it’s been six years since I’ve been pregnant, and I know this is the easy part. The sleepless nights are coming, and so I’m just not excited.
1. I’ve already done this. Twice.
The first time was thrilling. The second time was half shock and half fear. Two kids under 2 was not exactly how I had planned it. But now, with a 6- and 7-year-old, I feel like I’ve got this. I’ve got two mostly self-sufficient kids. They walk, they talk, they can make their own breakfast, and they let me nap when I’m tired. So why, oh why, did I think a newborn would be fun?
2. I don’t want more stuff.
Babies don’t come with lots of stuff. People do. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love the offers of stuff and loaning me things that I’ll maybe use if the baby prefers a swing over a bouncy seat. But I haven’t had baby stuff around for at least four years. I didn’t like the clutter the first time. And this baby isn’t going to do anything for the first few months. So as I am slowly accepting that, yes, I do need some things, for now, they’re taking up a corner of the guest room so I can still function as though everything is normal.
3. I really don’t want to talk about my birth plan.
Or my midwife. Or what diapers I plan to use. I know that there are many options when it comes to birth. There are so many opinions on what I should do and think, and I really don’t want to hear it. Trust me, if I want your opinion, I will ask you. Between my midwife, my past two deliveries, and my research skills, I’m good. I’m also not planning to share it with you. If you’re not invited into the delivery room, you don’t need to know how it went down. Mmmk?
Really, there isn’t much need to explain this one. Social media has taken over everyone’s life, and this is one of the times I really hate it. We debated not talking about being pregnant on Facebook at all. But I knew that at some point, someone would say something about it, and gosh darn it, if the world was going to know, I was going to be the one to tell them. Now I feel like every pregnancy, gender, and birth announcement on social media is a competition. It has to be creative and unique, or a video. There has to be an intricate gender reveal with cakes and family parties and surprises. Nope, not us. Twenty weeks in, when we had a gender, we announced. Half the people were so shocked, they could only say, “Wow.” Perfect.
5. 40 weeks is a really long time.
The first two times I was pregnant I found out about 10 weeks in; this time it was like five weeks. Let me tell you it makes the next 35 weeks really long. Yes, we are on the downhill slide. But each week ticks by and the baby becomes the size of a different fruit or vegetable, and I get closer to not being able to say, “I’ve got plenty of time,” when people ask if I’m ready. Ready for what, exactly? The baby is coming whenever it wants to. All I really need at that point is a car seat—which I still don’t have because…I’ve got plenty of time.
But I know that this child is going to be amazing. The journey is going to be different, and seeing the joy on my older kids’ faces when they meet their younger sibling is going to be wonderful. The love I feel from my village, which is stretched around the world, is meant to prop me up on the hard days and it does. So while at this point, with a few months to go, I may not be excited, I know that I soon will be.