The Fear Is Setting In

I thought this one would be different. I wouldn’t be scared of what’s to come with baby no. 2. But it’s there. Peeking its ugly head out like those embarrassing awkward years photos you thought were all burned. I’m scared and unsure again.

It started off fine. I knew what was coming. I knew Braxton Hicks shouldn't induce a panicked phone call to my OB or terrified husband. I knew the baby wouldn’t rip itself out of my stomach a la Aliens or kick my bladder into my legs despite her Mia Hamm impressions.  And I knew no matter what, my hubby and I could handle it.

Now, I’m not so sure. I read my friend’s blog about their third baby and she came out like a human canon ball. Evan was a week early and he took his sweet time despite repeated eviction notices throughout the 24-hour plus labor. (Of course, he made up for it with 9 minutes of pushing.)

Plus, I didn’t know what the contractions were at first and stayed at work finishing up projects. In fact, I would have stayed there longer if my boss and other female co-workers hadn’t realized from my pained face that it was getting bad and forcibly ejected me.

But what if Baby Mojo makes an appearance while I’m Krogering or at the park with Evan? Do I cross my legs, fingers, eyes and hope for the best? Do I rush home or take my time? And this time I seriously want my epidural earlier. There is no blue ribbon for heroics when it comes to labor. Some women choose to do it naturally—and God bless them—but I was just stubborn and stupid. I wanted to prove I could walk the walk while grimacing through contractions. When I did want one, the good juice guy was in high demand and I loudly cursed my way through the waiting. I’m pretty sure I scared and scarred my brother-in-law for life, but at least now he teases me less and recognizes the full power of my Italian-Irish ire.

Part of me wants to just forget about all the chaos and focus on the happy pre-baby moments. But I’ve never been that good with extended self-delusion. Plus, I still haven’t done anything in terms of decorating, a baby book, or figuring out what we still need to buy.

All I know is that I better snap to soon or else she’ll be wearing onesies with stains and uber-boy proclamations, and sitting on the floor because I still don’t have a bouncy seat for her. I may be a delusional mom, but I can’t ignore that I have less than three months to get ready for life-changing child 2.0.