Sunday, October 3, 2010

The Waiting is the Hardest Part

Elliot had a naughty run-in with a classmate this week, because he doesn't know how to wait. According to his teacher, he asked to use the materials the other child was doing, and though the other boy said yes, he could use it when he was done, Elliot stood next to him and nagged until the other child got frustrated - then Elliot got mad... and the teacher had a situation on her hands. Then yesterday I had the realization that he really doesn't know what it means to wait, and maybe I don't either:

He wanted to show me one of his many Thomas the Train scenarios, which are amazing to him, but to the untrained eye, basically look like... a train - the same train you've seen a thousand times since you don't have the super-power of seeing into his imagination. Anyway, I asked him to wait since I was finishing an important email. He ran back to the train, then back to me, and nagged me about 10 times to come look. Finally I explained that waiting means going away, focusing on something else, and not asking again - just trusting that when I'm ready, I will come do what I said I would do. (Anybody get how deep and spiritually significant that actually is? Woah, man. Ponder it.)

So I'm in week 39 of my pregnancy now, and that's what I'm doing. Just waiting. I don't have it too bad, and I really can't complain. I'm not really uncomfortable during the day. Just sore in the hips at night. Plenty of Braxton Hicks contractions which are actually moderately painful, but still - I'm not miserable. I'm not waiting to go into labor...

I'm waiting for Erik to get home. He is due to return two days before my scheduled C-section. Everywhere I go, people notice my huge belly and make comments like, you're ready! any day now! any second now!, etc. And whenever I mention I'm waiting for my husband to get home and still have a couple weeks (well, 11 days), they all say I'll never make it that far. Not really very encouraging, though I know it's just people getting excited. Waiting is hard. Tom Petty knows what I'm talking about. Even though I'm feeling decent, and don't have the delusions of preparedness I did last time, it's just hard to wait. So right now I'm telling myself just to relax and trust that at this time two weeks from now, I will be receiving the excellent maid-service of French Hospital, smiling at my husband, and holding a brand new Emmet Angus Nappier. Yes, and Amen!

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