This Is It.

It's 9:02 am. At 10:30 or so we are leaving for the hospital. The c-section is scheduled for 1pm, but we need to be there a bit early so they can get the IV going and all that sort of thing.

I'm not too sure how I feel. Most of me wants to cry, and sit in a corner, but I think that is just the hormones contending with the concept of major surgery, even if it is routine.

Don't get me wrong, I am absolutely delighted that we get to meet our baby today. Really I am, I think I'm in "pre-shock". If that's not a real term then it should be. It's that kind of semi-numb feeling that you get when you have complete knowledge of all of the proverbial crap that is about to hit the fan and FAST.

Having a baby is a wonderful experience. There are very few things that even come close to this day on an emotional and spiritual level. There are also few things better primed to remind you about your own mortality than surgery, and you can tell yourself that even though you have been through it before it's ok to be a little scared or apprehensive. Because it IS.

Baby, I can't wait to meet you. You have beat my insides black and blue, reminded me how much I dislike hiccups, given me a new respect for people who have acid reflux and have to live with it on a daily basis. You have already taught me that balancing two children is going to be an interesting experience, and that Madeline is going to love you to pieces.

Today is rainy and overcast. It's not the type of day that most people hope for when giving a being new life, but I welcome it. It is spring, and rain has always symbolized life and growth and rebirth to me. Blame Grandpa R for that one, his green thumb has been passed down and so has his outlook on nature. I hope you inherit this trait. Here's hoping that you bypass the hereditary seasonal allergies that are plaguing us at the moment. My throat is raw and my sinuses are sniffly. But the flowers have bloomed to herald your arrival.

You've just given me a bit of a wiggle, so you have to be waking up for the day. Boy do you ever have a rude shock awaiting you. Sorry about that. It's cold out here. We have clothes for you. It's rainy, but you will have a roof over your head. There are many arms waiting to wrap you up and snuggle you warm. There's not much I can offer you at this point. You and I are about to go through a miniature hell. But we will manage. One way or another, life gets on. And the best part about being human is that we can forget the pain, the cold and the unsettledness with little hardship. If women remembered how much it sucks to throw up for three months when they are pregnant, they most likely wouldn't have babies any more, and then where would we be?

Love you. I managed to write that above bit with only one tear. Someone up there give me strength to make it through today without bawling like a baby. You'll be doing enough of that for both of us as it is.