“I will learn to love the skies I’m under.”

Lucky for me, little man’s birth date coincides with the school holidays so even though I’ve now finished up at work, I have technically scored 2 weeks off before his anticipated arrival. My timing is impeccable. Even though I’ve packed all my things and handed my beloved class to new hands, it still doesn’t seem real. I’ve never not worked. I’m flooded with advice to spend as much time with hubby, to go to the movies, to watch DVDs, to do nothing and do everything. The greatest thing you’ll ever experience in your entire humanely existence lies around the corner. The reward. The love. You’ll learn what tired truly means. It’ll be your greatest achievement. You’ll never be the same again. Yeah, yeah… I continue with my internal eye rolls. How can so much be wrapped up in one part of their lives (*please insert another one of those wet-fish-slap moments here.*) I spend my first week off continuing with my ‘nesting’ rituals. Everything is cleaned, and then cleaned again. Everything is in perfect order. I’ve watched a movie a day and I’m clearly now bored. I’m so bored of this house, of the TV, of cleaning, of worrying… but I think mostly I’m bored with the anticipation. I’ve now been pregnant for 59 weeks! YES, over the last 20 months, I’ve been pregnant for 15 of them… and I’m over it. 40 weeks of morning sickness, 59 weeks of angst, 20 months of fake smiles, a hurting heart and trembling fear. Lets get this over and done with already.

39 weeks

It’s Saturday and I’m now 39 weeks. I take my usual belly photo and go to bed, where I am met with the most vivid dream. Hubby and I are on a holiday, which seems to be at a warm coastal suburb. The sand roads meet gutter-free driveways, followed by front lawns to beach shacks. The sky is a cloudless, brilliant blue. As we wander the streets, I see a sign for my doctor from the Feto-Maternal Unit. We walk down the sandy driveway to his office, which appeared just like any other ultrasound clinic. As I’m stretched out on the examination table, we get to look at little man on the monitor, yet the image, rather than being its usual pixelated black and white, is as clear as a photo. I can see him. All his features; his face, his hair. It’s as if I could reach out and pull him through the screen. I beg the doctor with desperate urgency; “Please, I need him now. I can’t wait any longer. I can see him. I need to hold him to know he’s ok. Please help me!” The doctor, with a surgical hook, inserts and pulls…

I wake up suddenly from my dream with a sensation of wetting the bed. I run to the bathroom, dripping wet. My waters just broke. That didn’t just happen, did it?

“Courage, dear heart.” –C.S. Lewis