Tomorrow morning at 8:30 our lives will be forever changed. Tatu (that’s baby #3’s nickname, for the uninitiated) is scheduled to be delivered then. I am excited to meet this little person that has a been somersaulting around my uterus over the last many months, and ready for this debilitating sciatica to become a distant memory, but despite the excitement I did mourn today. I mourned the impending loss of our family’s life as we’ve come to know it. I mourned the loss of Oliver as my “baby” and the thought of seeing him as grown up compared to the new little one. And some part of me – although a small part – mourned the loss of pregnancy. This will be the last.
When I was pregnant with Oliver I felt many of these emotions MUCH earlier an my pregnancy (I even shared a tear-jerking poem about having a second baby), and I thought I would escape this pregnancy without feeling them again. The benefit I have this time around is knowing how amazing and rewarding it is to watch siblings together: to see the lover that grows between them and watch as they engage each other in ways I simply could not have imagined. I know how much Eleanor and Oliver will benefit from their new sibling, and how much that sibling will benefit from having them as an older sister and brother.
And I’m so comforted to know that I’m doing this with Tim, because we make a great team. As I prepare for sleep, I regret that I didn’t take one last family picture – just the 4 of us – but I did get to spend the afternoon with my family even if there are no photos to prove it. Plus, there are directions for accessing Oliver’s morning music using the Apple TV, recipes for zucchini bread and pumpkin muffins on the fridge, and a packed bag by the front door, so I do have that to show for the afternoon.