Full Term

Today I am 37 weeks pregnant. "Full term" in the medical world, which means Dos can come any time he wants to now and it will all be a-okay. You know. From a medical, developmental, health point of view.

And, I realized this morning, from a emotional, "mommy is ready to meet him" point of view, too.

It's true. With baby girl, I couldn't wait to meet her. I couldn't wait to smell her and stroke her sweet baby cheeks and snuggle her. But the idea of having a baby, of going from the life of two TH and I had always known to a life of three, still terrified me. I was stuck in this swirl of conflicting emotions--worry over her there at the end, desire to see her and hold her, and fear of leaving behind for good the only life I'd ever known.

And now? When I think about going into labor, when I think about the chaos it will undoubtedly throw our sweet little lives into, when I think about the permanent changes that will be wrought with that moment . . . I feel . . . ready. Far from the back-and-forth yes/no doubt, it's more of a "let's get this show on the road" feeling.

His room is still a wreck. His car seat is not installed yet. His bed isn't set up. Our hospital bags aren't packed. But my heart is ready. My mind is ready.

Maybe it's just the realization from having done this now once before that we really aren't ever going to be more ready than we are right now. Waiting another three or four weeks vs having him come sooner really isn't going to make anything any easier or harder. It's all going to be a hard adjustment no matter when it happens. It's all going to be the most incredible adjustment no matter when it happens.

So, it can happen.

Whenever.

I'm not doing anything special to get the show on the road. I'm not impatient. Not antsy. Just ready for him, whenever he decides he wants to come meet us. What a nice place to be.

One thing that has changed in the last few days: Dos now has a name. That's right! A name! After nearly 80 weeks of total pregnancy in my life, my husband and I have finally, FINALLY agreed on a boy's name.

No, I'm not sharing it just yet. We've done the whole, "everybody knows the name way early" thing. Now we're going to try the "everyone will just have to wait and be surprised when he arrives" thing. Exciting, no? :-)

But anyway, back to the name. With baby girl's name, when we said it, the clouds parted, the heavens sang, and we just knew. And that's what we both had kept waiting for with Dos's name. Where was the heavenly chorus?? We threw around hundreds of perfectly fine boy names, but not a single one of them felt right. They just felt . . . fine. Eventually we realized we may have to be okay with just fine. The heavens might not sing for us this time around. So we waited. And kept throwing out names. And kept seeing how they felt. And then last Thursday, as we went for a family walk around the neighborhood, we threw out another name. And something clicked.

We hadn't just decided on a name for our son. We had simply finally figured out what our son's name was. It was a moment where I finally thought, "oh! That's what your name is! Hi in there!"

And in that moment, he became one breath less mine and one breath more his own little man. He was no longer just the nameless mystery baby inside me. He was no longer just mine, with no identity of his own. He was now a distinct person unto himself. With his own, distinct name. He had his own identity, separate from me.

Such is parenthood, eh? A series of moments in which your child becomes more their own person, less yours. It made me feel sad and proud at the same time. Sad to lose forever that window we'd had where we were inseparable, but proud to have known this little man from his very first moment of self. Proud to bear witness to what he'll do in his life.

So here we are. Full term. Ready to meet our son, who now, finally, has a name, whenever he decides that he is ready to come meet us.

It is true I am approaching his birth with a feeling of much more calmness than I did with his sister. But it is equally true that there is not one ounce less excitement. Every cell inside me longs to hold him in my arms, wrapped tightly in a blanket, to stare in rapture at his sweet newborn face. To meet him. To kiss him. To never let him out of my arms. To sleep with his heart beating in time with mine.

And that's how I really know I'm ready. Because I've done the newborn thing once, and holyshitballs was it the hardest thing I've ever done. It took my breath away, left me gasping for air and mindless with worry and confusion and doubt.

And I can't wait to jump back into that sweet water and do it all again.