I was folding clothes a few minutes ago, and was hit with an overwhelming feeling of wistful nostalgia, and maybe even loss. I came across a pair of pajama pants that I had bought, with the matching robe, for my hospital stay when I had Cooper. As much as I enjoyed buying baby stuff while I was pregnant, it was the last month or so, when I was preparing for my trip to the hospital, that was the most exciting. “When I wear this, my baby will be with me.”
Like most women, I felt like I was pregnant forever. It was just a never-ending process in which I got so used to my giant stomach, that by the time I started my ninth month, I literally could not imagine a time in which I would ever be not pregnant. I couldn’t imagine a time in which I would wear pants without an elastic panel, or be able to see my belly button without looking in a mirror. I was going to be giant FOREVER.
Going hand in hand with this belief was the fact that as I got closer and closer to my due date, the more theoretical my baby actually seemed. Even though I knew I could have him any day; that he was full term, and even though I could feel the outline of his little butt as it pressed against the right side of my stomach, I became less able to actually believe that one day very soon, the thing that had been crawling around inside of me for the better part of the past year was going to be a living, breathing being.
So buying those pajama bottoms and the matching robe helped make this very unreal situation real for me. Those clothes were tangible objects I could hold in my hand and say, “My baby will come, and I will wear this.” It was the best time of my life.
Cooper was 6 days late, and in the last two or three weeks of my pregnancy, the belief that I would stay pregnant forever was mixed with my hormones and made me into a crazy mess. But when I dragged myself off of the couch and prepared; when I made Luke drive me to the Chipotle in Secaucus for a burrito bowl (a drive that took at least three times longer than it was supposed to, due to the fact that Secaucus is an unwieldy maze of business hotels and chain restaurants); when I thought I might be going into labor, but I didn’t want to jinx it, so I cleaned the bathroom; when the doctor’s answering service told me to go to the hospital; when Luke and I parked in the garage and I walked the two blocks to the hospital, in labor, dressed in the pajamas I had bought for just this occasion; when I had my baby and discovered, that yes, he was real; I had never been happier in my entire life.
Of course, after that, things got much, much harder. The baby was real, and he needed me– all the time. I went home and walked into terrible family drama, my inability to not spread myself too thin with work (I stayed home for a month or so, but never took an actual maternity leave), and stressor piled on top of stressors. There was fighting, there was crying, there was feeling overwhelmed, there was a lot of travel, and then there was a move, and the whole process started over in a new locale.
Every day of the past 10 months has been a non-stop struggle. Like my ninth month of pregnancy, it feels as though it will be this way forever. I know it won’t though; I know that eventually it will get easier; things will get better. In fact, they already have. I still have those pajamas, and I still have my baby, sleeping soundly in his crib upstairs.
