The Beginning of the End is the Beginning

This week has been cathartic, stressful, depressing, exciting, and overwhelming. On one hand, I'm wishing this pregnancy could end and the recovery and baby-loving could begin. On the other hand, I just want to enjoy my last days/weeks with my first born daughter as much as possible.

Enter my frustration with being limited physically with what I can and cannot do (rather, what I should and should not do), which leads to the vicious and useless back talk in my head about whether or not I'm a good mom, what was I thinking getting myself into this, what's going to happen to my sweet Maya once Lila gets here. Will they love each other or be jealous or....

I was so grateful that Maya got to enjoy this Christmas with just the three of us and that I wasn't in a hospital room instead of with her. I realize this is a first world problem, and I should just be grateful we're all healthy, baby girl(s) are okay, daddy's home with us, etc. I am grateful, and I'm also feeling many other things.

I feel insanely uncomfortable, physically exhausted, frequently sleepy. I feel sad when I realize my baby is never going to be a baby again. Now she'll be a big sister, and someday she'll grow up and not need me as much as she does. And that that's okay because it is the goal of parenting for her to become a fully functional adult. I feel sad because my second baby will always be second until she learns to put herself first.

I feel excited to meet Lila in person. I hope she looks like me. I can already tell she's incredibly physically strong. I'm looking forward to the challenge of breast feeding and using all I've learned from raising Maya to hopefully raise Lila well, too.

I'm excited and also a little nervous about trying to fit in normal clothes again. I look forward to having adult beverages again and actually having a semi-functional grown up life again.