I have a secret.
I'm going to give birth in 4-5 weeks. (Obviously, that's not the secret.)
Here it is:
In about a month, I'm going to transition from "that pregnant chick who can't see her feet" to "that new mom who has no idea what she's doing."
I think I've been pretty good about the whole pregnancy thing. I haven't freaked out about anything, and I have generally enjoyed every moment, minus the vomiting in the beginning. That pretty much sucked, no matter how you look at it.
But now? Now I'm freaking out. If you've been reading this blog for any length of time, you know that I like to have a plan. And the idea of giving up that control to someone who weighs 8 pounds is enough to make me have a small anxiety attack.
I know that it will be absolutely wonderful, and most of me can't wait for Tator Tot to get here.
But there is still that small part that is screaming, "Are you kidding me? A mom? You can barely get to work on time! You have no idea what you're doing! The last time you cared for a child for any length of time you were 15!"
I had the crazy thought that I should just keep the baby in my uterus. Because honestly? I think I'm pretty darn good at this pregnancy thing. I've managed to keep my baby safe and happy for 8 months now. And I see no reason why I should fix it if it ain't broke.
OK, I can think of a few reasons why that wouldn't work out very well. But still. I thought about it.
So Tator Tot, I love you, and I can't wait to meet you. But please be patient with me. I'm new at this, and I'm scared. If you could come out looking completely adorable (like I know you will) it would really help. Lots. And if you could cry when someone other than me holds you, I'd probably appreciate that too. (I realize that's ridiculously selfish, but I'm pretty much giving up all of my other selfish tendencies cold-turkey. Please let me have this one.)
Panic attack over. For now.