On your marks...

There's a thought that during the third trimester, our bodies' job is to make us so uncomfortable that by the time labor arrives, we will do whatever it takes- even pushing a large head through a very small space- to get the baby out.  


I'm there.  I'm very, very ready to have this baby.  Last week, I wasn't sure, and I even told Tyler that I wasn't sure I was ready emotionally.  I kept wondering if I was ready to be done being pregnant even if this is the last time I'm ever pregnant.  But this week?  Something shifted in my brain, and I am ready.  


Perhaps it's the never-ending contractions that are stronger than any practice contractions I remember with Tye (I keep telling myself they have to be doing something in there, as many as I'm having...).  Or maybe it's Baby Girl's head so low in my belly that every movement is uncomfortable, and many are downright impossible.  Or maybe it has to do with the crazy nesting urges I've been succumbing to all week that have encouraged me to launder every fabric item in our home, stuff our freezer full of reheatable meals, knit two hats, and re-organize every pocket of clutter, all between random cleaning binges.   I even have a half-made recipe of almond flour scones on the counter, ready to mix and bake so I'll have some delicious protein during and after the birth.  I'm ready.


But I'm afraid I'm the only one.  Tyler told me he has a week's worth of work he'd like to do before he takes paternity leave.  I'm not sure Tye is really ready or that she ever will be, but she's coming off of a nasty cold and any extra days towards healthy would benefit her transition to Big SIsterhood.  And most importantly, I need to wait until Baby GIrl is ready.  I keep reminding myself that she'll join us when she is ready, and until then, she's still growing and storing up fat for those first days out of the womb.  Thinking about her adding chub to her little legs and arms makes being patient simultaneously easier and harder.  I just want to kiss those tiny limbs already.  


Whenever I've run races, whether it's a local 5k or a huge marathon, I'm always one of the people rushing to the starting corrals at the very last minute or in some cases, even running to make it to the starting line before the chip timer is turned off.  But at each race, someone is the first runner to show up.  I'm sure she isn't alone- there are support personnel around preparing the stage and tents and others marking the course and directing traffic.  That first runner at the race is prepared; she's well-trained, her shoes are laced, her number is pinned to her shirt, and her bars and gels are tucked away neatly into pockets.  She's just waiting for someone to pull the trigger and start the race already.