It’s weird how time slows down when you are waiting for something as if we had any control over the speed in which it passes. But our internal sensations of how it moves really does change and right now, at 40-weeks pregnant, it is going at a sloth’s speed. It’s like being stuck behind a semi truck on a one-lane road, no passing in sight, and all you want to do is step on the gas and fly to your destination because—for God’s sake—let’s get there, let’s do this!
J seems to be creating his own timeline as he told his teachers at preschool that I already had the baby. His teacher was a bit confused when later that day at pickup, she asked my husband, “how’s the baby doing?” and he merely shrugged and said, “any day now.” I tried to ask J about this but he just said, “I don’t know.” Maybe somewhere in his four-year-old reality I did have the baby, and his imagination can travel back and forth in time in order to avoid the annoying wait.
My mind has been traveling around too I guess—the other night, I had a dream that I was giving birth but didn’t quite make it to the hospital and somehow landed in my college dorm room, with my high school friends delivering the baby. Talk about time travel. The funny thing was that, although I was concerned that there were no midwives or doctors present, I was comforted that there were old friends there, who knew me and loved me and were perhaps somehow connecting my past to this crazy new present.
However, the dream did take a terrifying turn when when the baby stopped breathing because, right after he came out, I unsuccessfully attempted to hold both him and J at the same time. Thankfully, in this alternate reality, I gave the baby mouth-to-mouth resuscitation and he was okay. So clearly (when I am being honest) I am terribly fearful about having two and keeping them both alive and loved at the same time. One of my wise friends once reassured me that the second one will get plenty of love because he will have a whole extra person in the family loving him—his older sibling! What a great way to look at it, and I try to remind myself of this, and tell my subconscious to relax a little bit. Plus, apparently somewhere in the corridors of my brain, I’ve got baby first-aide down.
“I’m going to dream about you tonight, because I love you so much,” J recently announced while I was tucking him into bed. Wow, I do not deserve that, I thought to myself, feeling a tremendous wave of emotion. At this point in the pregnancy, I had reached beached-whale-state, which meant I had hardly the energy to do anything at all, and for some reason, especially anything having to do with legos or Star Wars. Okay so cooking, cleaning, laundry, organizing, even mild exercise I could handle, (all in pathetically short bursts, of course) but for some reason—play—lately I just didn’t have it in me. At all. Just the thought of another conversation about Luke Skywalker made me want to curl up and hide under the couch cushions. So when he said this, I felt overcome by his acceptance of me in this physically, energetically, and emotionally limited state, of all my shortcomings and humanness and how, pregnant or not, I could never ever give him as much as I wish I could give, and that was okay, because he loved me anyway. And, when the time was right, and that beautiful passing lane finally opened up, for some reason (this inexplicable love, our incredible human race) so would his little brother.