Beatific Acceptance: Baby Will Come When Baby Come

My due date is this upcoming Monday, Valentine’s Day.

For much of the past week, I was convinced it was Go Time. I was just in a constant state of tension, the way I expect you’d feel if you thought a small meteor might hit your farmland at any moment.  After a couple weeks of Nights that Seemed Very Promising! I came to the conclusion that my body basically just falls apart by the end of the day, tired of lugging around what my pregnancy app tells me is the size of a small pumpkin at this time, which makes sense, as I’m picturing the baby with a sinister jack o lantern grin most days.

Feeling swarmed by these apprehensive wide-eyed nerves was not a pleasant way to be walking around or attempting to interact civilly with other humans.

On Thursday, after pacing like Cujo for too many days, some sort of strange veil of peace came over me.

OK baby, I thought, you’re coming when you’re coming and no amount of cursing or cosmic begging is going to change that. I reached some sort of platform of beatific acceptance. I imagine this beatific acceptance will feel slightly out of reach when I’m trying to push a human head out of what begrudgingly fits a Super tampon on a good day, but I’ll take moments of peace when I can get them.

This realization that I have no control, and must cede to a higher power of unknown forces (cosmic, hormonal, who knows)—this is always a good reminder and probably no more timely than now, when our lives are going to be burst open by a tiny needy ball of ruddy pink love.

By day, I work as a Project Manager and one of the four pillars I manage is Time. Telling a client “Ya, we’re not really sure when the Most Important Event of the Project is going to happen,” would be grounds for a deal never getting signed to begin with. And yet, that’s the journey we sign up for when we sign up for Project Baby—no clue really, when the little bean will luge their way into the world like a kid on Disney’s Summit Plummet.

A baby is a reminder to the “Real World” that in the REAL WORLD—of animals, plants, of living breathing things—that we’re guessing half the time and every human, every life, is pretty much a friggin miracle and definitely not one that can be charted in a Smartsheets project plan.

So maybe I’ll have the baby tonight, or tomorrow, or two weeks from now. And while I’m sure I’ll be continue feeling the spectrum of human emotions as I wait for the Grand Arrival, a part of me is good with this journey unfolding as it’s meant to.

Love,

The girl diffusing clary sage and ordering Indian food for dinner