Disappointment vs. Trust
My Precious Child,
Today we went for my 38-week checkup. It appears you and I make a pretty solid team because we have already managed to get to 2 cm dilated. My heart filled with pride when my midwife announced that fact. I assumed that meant you were on your way, that my nights of back aches and 3+ trips to the bathroom were coming to an end and that we would see your beautiful face soon... maybe today! But, in the words of Papa Bruce, I couldn't have been more wrong if my butt were on backwards. (You're going to have to get used to those sorts of sayings... he has a lot of them).
As it turns out, 2 cm dilated means little more than "YAY! My body knows how to deliver a baby!" It does not necessarily mean what I had hoped - that I would be sent home with a gold medal, a pat on the back, and a "see you in a couple days!" It does not mean that I will go into labor today, tomorrow, or even this week. It does not mean that I will continue to progress so easily. It simply means that I am dilated to 2 cm. Nothing more, nothing less.
What a buzz kill.
I could blame the pregnancy hormones for why I left the appointment on the verge of tears but I know that would be a cop out. I was disappointed. Disappointed that you weren't quite ready to come and meet us. Disappointed that my exam was physically uncomfortable (and even painful). Disappointed in the realization that pain tolerance may not be what I had hoped. Disappointed that I may need to seriously consider pain management options beyond meditation and natural remedies during labor. Disappointed in the fact that I was wanting to rush you at all. Disappointed in the fact that I was letting myself be disappointed at all after such a blessed pregnancy.
I was basically a mess of emotions wrapped up in self-defeating negativity.
And your daddy wouldn't have it. He reassured me that I am strong, capable, powerful, and more than able to deliver you however I see fit. He reminded me that the only person holding me to such a high (unrealistic?) standard is me. He told me that he will support me through every decision, every meltdown, every moment of confusion and doubt. He told me that he has never been more excited to meet anyone in his whole life but that you will come when you are good and ready.
Have I every told you just how much I love your dad?
Well he's right. And I am going to listen to him. Because I trust him. And I trust you. I mean this now, as you sit in my belly as a little 8 lb. nugget, and I will mean it when you are 18 years old, driving down the street in a hand-me-down car. I trust you. I trust you to know what is right for yourself. I will try my hardest not to rush you or pressure you with my own expectations. I trust that loving you whole-heartedly and raising you with respect and kindness will shape you into the kind of person to make smart choices for yourself.
I trust that you will know the song in your heart better than anyone else, even me, and that you will sing it proudly. I will try to learn it, to sing along with you when you are struggling to remember it or when you forget a verse, but it is your song to sing. I'm going to quit rushing the tempo. You sing your song when you're good and ready, baby girl.
Love Always and Forever,
Mom
Today we went for my 38-week checkup. It appears you and I make a pretty solid team because we have already managed to get to 2 cm dilated. My heart filled with pride when my midwife announced that fact. I assumed that meant you were on your way, that my nights of back aches and 3+ trips to the bathroom were coming to an end and that we would see your beautiful face soon... maybe today! But, in the words of Papa Bruce, I couldn't have been more wrong if my butt were on backwards. (You're going to have to get used to those sorts of sayings... he has a lot of them).
As it turns out, 2 cm dilated means little more than "YAY! My body knows how to deliver a baby!" It does not necessarily mean what I had hoped - that I would be sent home with a gold medal, a pat on the back, and a "see you in a couple days!" It does not mean that I will go into labor today, tomorrow, or even this week. It does not mean that I will continue to progress so easily. It simply means that I am dilated to 2 cm. Nothing more, nothing less.
What a buzz kill.
I could blame the pregnancy hormones for why I left the appointment on the verge of tears but I know that would be a cop out. I was disappointed. Disappointed that you weren't quite ready to come and meet us. Disappointed that my exam was physically uncomfortable (and even painful). Disappointed in the realization that pain tolerance may not be what I had hoped. Disappointed that I may need to seriously consider pain management options beyond meditation and natural remedies during labor. Disappointed in the fact that I was wanting to rush you at all. Disappointed in the fact that I was letting myself be disappointed at all after such a blessed pregnancy.
I was basically a mess of emotions wrapped up in self-defeating negativity.
And your daddy wouldn't have it. He reassured me that I am strong, capable, powerful, and more than able to deliver you however I see fit. He reminded me that the only person holding me to such a high (unrealistic?) standard is me. He told me that he will support me through every decision, every meltdown, every moment of confusion and doubt. He told me that he has never been more excited to meet anyone in his whole life but that you will come when you are good and ready.
Have I every told you just how much I love your dad?
Well he's right. And I am going to listen to him. Because I trust him. And I trust you. I mean this now, as you sit in my belly as a little 8 lb. nugget, and I will mean it when you are 18 years old, driving down the street in a hand-me-down car. I trust you. I trust you to know what is right for yourself. I will try my hardest not to rush you or pressure you with my own expectations. I trust that loving you whole-heartedly and raising you with respect and kindness will shape you into the kind of person to make smart choices for yourself.
I trust that you will know the song in your heart better than anyone else, even me, and that you will sing it proudly. I will try to learn it, to sing along with you when you are struggling to remember it or when you forget a verse, but it is your song to sing. I'm going to quit rushing the tempo. You sing your song when you're good and ready, baby girl.
Love Always and Forever,
Mom
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