All expecting mothers eventually reach a point in their pregnancy when, instead of counting how many weeks they've been pregnant, they begin to count how many weeks they have left. I have definitely reached that point.
Today, I am exactly EIGHT weeks away from meeting my second child.
I think most moms have a slight fear when it comes to delivering a baby. We hope we can do it, we believe in our bodies' power and ability, but we secretly fear that something will go wrong. As mothers, our instincts to protect our families kick in very, very early and that slight fear is a powerful force with which to be reckoned. I think c-sections are scary because I don't get to trust in my body's innate abilities, but instead I have to trust in the abilities of my surgical team. Heaven help them.
Anyway, at this time eight weeks from now, I'll be lying in a hospital bed, regaining feeling in my toes, recovering from major abdominal surgery, asking for pain meds, and trying not to scratch my brains out. (The spinal meds made me itch like a crazy last time and I have developed an allergy to the adhesive used in medical tape and band aids. Awesome.) I'll also be nursing *fingers crossed* a newborn, changing tiny diapers, feeling exhausted but too wired to sleep, missing my big girl, and nervous about leaving the helpful staff of the hospital behind.
Only eight weeks left until all craziness breaks loose.