I remember the final two weeks of my first pregnancy very vividly.
I was scared and anxious, yet full of excitement and anticipation.
I was impatient for the pregnancy to be over, yet wanted to stop time in it's tracks.
I was running around trying to "prepare" myself in the ways that all the books told me I should, yet I had no idea how to prepare for the main event.
I read about "what to expect", yet felt like I had unrealistic expectations.
I had heard stories from moms who had been through it all before me, yet fear of the unknown was almost paralyzing.
And then she came.
And nothing could have prepared me. Prepared Us.
For the experience of labour and delivery.
For the first night with a newborn.
For the fear of that first car ride home.
For the simultaneous exhaustion and joy of a wee one.
For the unending outpouring of support from friends and family.
For the privilege of watching our perfect 6 pound baby girl become a thriving, energetic, loving, beautiful, sassy toddler.
And now here we are again.
Two weeks to go.
And here's the thing: I'm still scared and anxious, yet full of excitement and anticipation.
I'm impatient for us to meet our baby boy, yet I want to slow down and savour these last two weeks as a family of three.
I'm running around trying to "prepare" myself for introducing a newborn baby to our family in the ways all the books tell me I should, yet I have no idea how it will all play out.
I've read about "what to expect" for becoming a family of four, yet I feel like I have unrealistic expectations.
I've experienced triage, labour, delivery, and bringing home a baby, yet fear of the KNOWN is at times almost paralyzing.
Because now I know.
Looking back, there was bliss in the ignorance I had the first time around.
Looking forward, there is security in knowing we got through it all once before.
We got this.
I got this.
Two weeks to go.