I’m over halfway there. Over the hump. When I was a swimmer, I would count down, sometimes in fractions or percentages (I know, big nerd). Anything to take my mind off the pain. The midway point was “The Hump” and as soon as I got past it, the light at the end of the tunnel would appear. Eventually I would hit the wall after the last repeat, get a drink of water and wait for the next set. At some point, I was told what to do, and I’d start all over again.
I thought I would appreciate getting over the hump in my pregnancy, but something different has happened. I have officially reached the hump, but instead of leaning toward the finish, I want things to slow down! What on earth! This is so bizarre.
The other day someone told me that we do a great job of planning for events, but it’s what comes afterward that really matters. We plan for races, exams, weddings and births. We put so much effort into planning for these events.
Then they happen. In the blink of an eye. And they’re over before we know it.
Then what? What happens next?
Usually some sort of expected aftermath sets in. If it’s an exam, the aftermath is a night of partying and a few days of not using your brain. If it’s a marathon, the aftermath is soreness and hunger. If it’s a wedding, the aftermath is hopefully a lifelong marriage. See how the stakes are changing. So, when we’re talking about a birth, the aftermath is something altogether different. It’s adding a person to your family.
Tim’s brother, Tony, told me that it was so crazy to look in the mirror on the drive home from the hospital and see another person in the car. The aftermath is not temporary and it’s not a small responsibility. Wow…
In anticipation of the actual “event”, the birth, I had this preconception that we had to take birthing classes. I imagined a bunch of people sitting around a room breathing on each other. Sounds a bit like yoga to me! Yesterday, at my monthly appointment with the Midwives, I asked about our options. I was told that there is no requirement. You don’t have to have a diploma to give birth. You can take a class, get some private instruction, or simply read, watch videos or talk to friends. There is no manual.
This is the message that continues to come across loud and clear. There is no manual.
So here I sit, 24 weeks and 18 pounds later, preparing but not preparing too hard, for the biggest event of our lives. Can I just hit pause until I feel a bit more confident?