The last time I was this impatient was when Vegas was about eight weeks into being more than a thought. Oh, I wanted to tell everyone. Wanted to explain why D was so tired, why she should get to go home early, why I was distracted. I didn’t get much work done. I fretted about whether we had told our parents too soon, whether the 12 week scan would show a problem. I worried away at every tiny decision until we’d reached 12 weeks and we could tell people without waking the deep fear that we hadn’t yet crossed the disaster line from “you should have waited to tell” to support.
Since then though (at least until now) it has been smooth sailing. Vegas’ development was out of my hands. He was going to be okay, or he wasn’t. I’m not sure what tipped but all of a sudden I’m constantly wondering about his well-being. Is he moving? Is he kicking? How are feeling? How is he feeling? Why is he making you nauseous? How did he get back on your nerve? Is he wiggling? Are there hiccups? Why are you so tired? Does he have everything he needs? Is. He. Moving? Is everything going to be okay?
She can only tell me that yes, he is moving and that she thinks everything is fine. But, I can’t help but worry that it will suddenly stop being okay. That we could somehow prevent something. That I have some kind of control now. That I can make him stop hurting her. So here we are with 29 days to go (assuming we don’t have to give up anther seven, Vegas) and it’s only a minor consolation to know that by July 1st we’ll have a babe in arms. Even though I know it’s the end of May and that will be the very tip of July, it still feels like two months.
This doesn’t get better, does it?