So I’m a week shy of full-term. Four weeks away from delivery if she’s early like Olivia. Six weeks away if she’s late like Benjamin.

Am I ready?

No.

Sure I’ve got stuff in the freezer for my “Babymoon”. But I’ve yet to wash the gender neutral onesies in the garage. Or find a place to put them when they ARE clean. We did have the infant carrier in the car, but now it looks like we’re getting a van. So we took it out.

What’s this? Why the van? Because we were offered it, way-back-when, and we finally realized the sense in having it. It was mostly decided back when Aunt Shannie, and then Aunt Sassa came to visit and driving two kids and three adults in a Taurus wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the world. Then we bought Benjamin’s bed and had to borrow a friend’s van yet again to get it home.

And we realized it was time for a van.

So we’re switching Josh’s parents our Taurus for their Caravan. They’re downsizing, we’re upsizing. When they come to visit on Memorial Day weekend, we’ll make the trade.

But I still don’t feel ready. And I’m not ready to be ready. Yes, the baby’s getting bigger. My pelvis creaks and groans in protest under her weight. The muggy heat of spring (not even summer yet!) has caused momentous swelling in my ankles, fingers, and apparently wrists as well.

Because I appear to have developed carpal tunnel.

The following makes my hands go numb:

  • Holding the steering wheel at 10 and 2, like a good little driver, for more than five minutes
  • Stirring Tammy’s homemade vanilla pudding.
  • Holding the phone to my ear for more than a few minutes.
  • Sleeping on any part of my arm (and when you’re not allowed to sleep on your stomach or your back, this is quite inevitable.)

But it’s not all one stereotypical moan-fest.  I love having this life inside me.  I love the kicks, squirms, and hiccups.  I know that within hours of giving birth, I’ll miss it.  And long for it.  All over again.

And yet, I also long to hold this little one.  To know if I have another daughter or son.  To finalize the name.  To watch my husband beam down on her, exuding his undying love.  I want to nurse again.  I want a little one who falls asleep as soon as she recognizes the comfort of her mother’s scent and feel.  (Instead of poking at my eyeballs and stubbornly refusing to settle down at night-times….)

But I’m not ready.   When strangers in line behind me at the grocery store laugh and tell me how ready they think I must be, I just smile cordially.  Because I’m not.

I don’t know how to handle three children.  I’m really just getting the hang of two children.  How am I going to do this?

For the most part, I think we’ve prepared Benjamin and Olivia to be independent enough that it’s possible to introduce a new little dependent being into the house.  But then I have a crazy lunch time where I barely get the chance to sit, what, with all the spilling and “more!”ing and “no, please don’t!”ing.  And I mentally put a third child into the picture.  One who wants to nurse during the craziness.

And I struggle with my breathing.

So no, I’m not ready.  But I have faith in God that I will be when the time comes.

Give me this day my daily bread.

Enough for today.  And when I pray tomorrow, it’ll be enough then, too.