According to the weekly emails I get, Rhiannon is officially 36 weeks along, which means 4 weeks until the due date. Brooklynn was two days past due and she had to be induced to come out, so mentally, the due date is kind of firm. As in ‘you will not have a baby before this day’ type of firm.
I understand that’s not always the case. There have been a fair number of women that Rhiannon knows that have had babies around 37 weeks. If my math skills are still sharp enough, I can be relatively confident that 37 minus 36 is 1. Relatively certain about that.
Absolutely certain that we are in no way prepared at this point to have a baby next week. When Brooklynn was still more Beta than baby, we were prepared. We had a stroller purchased and the room done and diapers lined up and onesies laid out and a car seat at the ready a couple months before she actually graced us with her presence.
Now, it isn’t as though we threw a bunch of stuff away in the interim. We still have the crib – it’s just that Brooklynn is still using it. After her first attempt at switching to her new big girl room, she has expressed no further interest. We haven’t pushed it either.
Until some of Brooklynn’s clothes get moved over to the new room[1. Which is still on hold pending my completion of her closet.], there is no room in the nursery / bedroom to unpack the baby clothes from storage. We are still in the mode of wondering when we will no longer need pull-ups at night and not keeping track of how many newborn sized diapers we have on hand.
If I recall correctly, while they seem unaware and unconcerned with the world around them, newborns are extremely adept at soiling a brand new diaper just minutes after you put it on them. Diaper shortage can be a very real concern if you aren’t diligent in monitoring your supply.
It isn’t that we aren’t excited. I’m not jumping up and down about the night time disruption a newborn brings, but I am more than ready to hold the little kicker that Rhiannon’s been dealing with for the past eight months. In fact, Rhiannon is already predicting that I will attempt to monopolize the baby and leave her dealing with the attention-deprived toddler.
This may very well happen.
I love Brooklynn. Last night, when we were drawing letters on her white board, she randomly gave me a hug and kiss for no apparent reason. She can be the sweetest little kid capable of doing insanely cute things. And then, mere minutes later, she can also be the biggest pain.
Unpredictable. Two years old. Toddler. All of these words can be great and horrible just seconds apart.
When Brooklynn was a baby, I was unsure of myself[2. This is putting it mildly.]. I have no such reservations this time around. We may not be ready with stuff, but Rhiannon and I will be ready for the baby.
Now, in Brooklynn’s defense, I’ve probably blocked out most of the bad memories from years ago and just keep the sweet little Brookers she was in my head. I know that I don’t remember much of the times it took 20 minutes of rocking to get her to sleep and the fact that Rhiannon was much better at than I was. I also don’t give the fact that one of the best ways to keep her from crying was to walk endlessly up and down the stairs[3. This probably kept me in better shape more than I care to admit. Maybe it wasn’t really that bad.] much thought.
So we’re getting to the point when Artoo could choose to join us at any point. Brooklynn is ready to have Mom’s lap back. Rhiannon is ready for her hips to not hurt at night quite so much. I’m ready to hold our little baby.
And none of us are prepared.
36 weeks. Artoo, we’re waiting, patiently. You be a little patient, too.