One year ago today was Lilah's "due date." When the day came and went with not a single sign of her arrival, I was in a tizzy. We were having unusually hot weather in Vancouver and my ankles were the size of watermelons, but the physical discomfort (which wasn't terrible, compared to what some of my friends have gone through during the final weeks of pregnancy) was nothing compared to the anxiety of not knowing what was going to happen and when. And the frustration that it wasn't happening when it was "supposed to." I just wanted my little tenant to vacate so that I could have my body back and, more importantly, so that I could hold her in my arms. I just wanted to get this party started, already!
Now I think back and wonder why I was in such a rush. Things were a million times harder once she was born, and the truth of the matter is that, even once Lilah was on the outside, my body still wasn't my own. I was still her sole source of sustenance, and she spent most of those first couple months attached to me anyway - just at nip level rather than belly button level. And having her attached to the outside of me didn't make things any cooler during the second heatwave that hit when she was three weeks old.
If I could go back and relive it, knowing what I know now, I wouldn't stress about the bonus ten days Lilah spent on the inside. I'd enjoy the "me time," read a ton of books and trashy magazines, sleep in till 11 am, and spend entire days at the spa.
I am not a patient person by nature, but Lilah's helping me work on that. Today marks the first anniversary of our very first lesson in patience, and apparently I'm being tested on what I have learned. (Molars, growth spurt, just plain tired, or all of the above - who knows?)
One year ago today, I was a sweaty, hormonal, moody, sobbing mess. (Okay, well, some things never change, but at least today I'm not the one sobbing.)
If anyone has any secrets about how to achieve a Zen state in the face of impatience and frustration, I'd love to hear 'em!