SEVEN SLEEPS

The fourth in the series.  The previous posts, The Chosen Ones, I’ve Got A Secret, and A Letter to My Future, will bring you to the current state of affairs as of the date of this post.

May 21, 2014

A week from now…just seven sleeps. That is, if I can sleep at all.

Good God, I can barely keep it together to type this.

A week from now…a week from now.  I hope that by this time next Wednesday, I will be cradling a newborn baby boy in my arms and already amassing an album’s worth of photos!

In the meantime, I have spent countless hours crying, dry heaving, battling the bubble guts, and eating Tums like they are Skittles! I’ve obsessed over all the things that could possibly go wrong.  I’ve made myself physically ill with worry.  I’ve had a short and meaningful love affair these past few days with pint glasses full of a clear liquid that goes by the name of Tito’s.  I’ve scoured websites and read “how-to” baby books to the point of being bleary eyed (or maybe that’s the vodka).  I have washed countless onesies, sorted through bags of hand-me-downs (how lucky to have a sister with three boys), hung outfits in the closet in order of their size, color and type. I’ve tried numerous and creative ways to fold itty-bitty baby clothes, and spent more time mating teeny-tiny socks than they will ever likely spend on his teeny-tiny feet.  I’ve coordinated outfits with matching hats, rearranged books on shelves, and organized a Target aisle-sized collection of baby bathing products. I’ve assembled a stroller and a pack-n-play, tried to figure out how the car seat works, and attempted to carry my cat around in the Moby wrap baby carrier thing I bought. (Note: I do not recommend that anyone, anywhere try that last thing at anytime).

I’m running out of things to do to occupy my time.  I am stressed to the point of feeling an honest appreciation for those with bonafide anxiety disorders.  It does not help that my normal outlet, RUNNING, has been taken off the table while I recuperate from an injury.  So now I’m starting to lean on the next reasonable stress outlet…PINTS OF ICE CREAM!  I’m about to apply for a job as the official taste-tester for Ben and Jerry’s. Between all of my maladaptive time wasters right now, my poor husband hasn’t had a home cooked meal in nearly two weeks.  If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll just join me in a pint and a pint and hunker down with me until we head out on Monday to see what our future holds for us…

Monday. Five more sleeps until we leave. Then there will be two more sleeps until…ok…I’m just going to go there and throw a little positivity into the mix…

Seven more sleeps until our son is born and with us.

Jesus, why doesn’t Ben and Jerry’s come by the gallon… and in Ambien flavor???

 

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