I’m a live in the now sort of mom.  I didn’t used to be.  When I was a tiny little squint of a thing I was always thinking of the next big event.  My birthday.  My sisters’ birthdays.  Christmas.  Fourth of July.  Thanksgiving.  Any celebration.  Any party.  Let’s be honest, any time there might be dessert.  I was barely looking at where I was, I was so busy looking at where I wasn’t.  And that’s because where I wasn’t there was always cake.

Now, I’m more of a pretty much only a today or tomorrow mom.  I know it would be sexier to say I am a this second mom, or a minute by minute mom, but I actually am still always 24 hours ahead.  Because let’s fact it, if I lived in this moment, there’d be practically no chance for cake, and if only one thing is certain, it’s that I’m a cake mom.

So all the way through your development so far, I’ve been happy to be right where we were.  Sure, there was a teensy bit of impatience at the 10 day point and some hurry up around the 12 week mark but until now I’ve been happy to appreciate my time with your mother, every last second of quiet and long afternoon lazing around a chilly house.  Well, let’s be honest, that lazing around happened only once, on Saturday, because we’ve been behaving like banshees for months.  But soon you’ll be here and we’ll have to keep the house warmer, we’ll scurry more and banshee less and there won’t be quiet.  Not like it has been.

Frankly child, I’m not a nostalgic sort and I’m getting impatient.  I’ll be happy to trade in our current brand of peace for the incoming make and model so long as it happens RIGHT NOW.  I know insisting that you hurry up please come on already now now now has no impact whatsoever.  You’ll come when you’re ready, when those hormones open the door, and when you’re finished screwing your head into your mother’s cervix.  And I’d probably be happier sitting here peacefully, living in the moment, especially since your due date is a week away.  But Vegas, I’d so like it if you came right now.  Or tonight.  Or even in the morning.  Please?

And it starts…the years of my pleas falling on deaf ears.

Love, Mama

P.S. That’s the first time I ever called myself a mom.  And I cried.

4 Responses

  1. And I cried when I read your “PS”

  2. 🙂

  3. So with you on the cake issue. 🙂

    At 8w1d, I’m torn between the occasional bouts of impatience and the moments of We. Have. SO MUCH. To. Do. panic.

    And wow. “Mom”. Wow.

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