My Last Pregnant Day

This is it: my last full day of pregnancy, ever. Tomorrow morning at this time, I'll be all checked into the hospital and in the early stages of labor. And by tomorrow afternoon, my newest son - Corbin Daniel - will be snuggled in my arms instead of in my abdomen (and my ribs, and my pelvic bone). I can't wait.

I'm not gonna lie, though: it's bittersweet. As uncomfortable as I am, I'm definitely a little sad that this is the very last time I'll get to experience pregnancy. After Corbin, this baby factory is officially shutting down, and I will never again feel the anticipation and excitement of each pregnancy milestone (or a well-placed roundhouse kick to the bladder). And while I'm excited to walk without feeling like a wishbone about to split in half, and to be able to get up and down from the bed or couch without needing the assistance of heavy machinery, a small part of me almost wants to hold onto it. Because pregnancy means babies. And no more pregnancy means ... no more babies. And no more babies makes me sad. And I think I'd feel that way whether this was my fourth or my fourteenth.

I am trying to get a grip on this, though; I really want to make sure that it doesn't affect Corbin in the long run. I've seen what happens sometimes with youngest children when their mothers don't want to accept that there are no more babies. It isn't pretty, leading to things like butt-wiping well beyond the necessary butt-wiping years and spoon-feeding cereal to eight-year-olds.

And Lord knows I don't wanna wipe butts any longer than I absolutely have to.

So I have to accept this whole "no more baby" thing.

I have lots of help around the house at the moment, and I'll be spending today focusing mostly on myself for the first time - and what will probably be the last time - in quite a while. I'm going to give myself a manicure and a pedicure, deep-condition my hair, and spend a ridiculous amount of time trying to remove stubble from places I can't see, let alone effectively reach. I'll make sure my hospital bag is packed and ready to go. I'll worry about pooping in front of people I don't know (and in front of my husband, who I do know but don't necessarily enjoy pooping in front of), and about pushing out a baby that I am certain is like 23 pounds by now.

And by tomorrow afternoon, I'll be un-pregnant. Forever.

Wish me luck, y'all.




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