Friday was my pre-admission appointment at the hospital for my delivery and stay with Charlie.
I was asked of any medical conditions besides my drug allergies and my postpartum depression.
I said anxiety.
And had to catch the sob in my throat.
*************
I asked Cort to bring up the itty bitty clothes because I couldn’t stand it anymore.
He did.
I opened three totes of memories.
And my hands and feet erupted in sweat.
*************
Saturday morning Cort picks up the twin-size mattress we bought for Eddie.
Eddie is so excited to sleep on it, I go out and buy sheets so he can use it for nap.
He sleeps like a champ.
And asks to sleep there at night.
And nap on Sunday.
And for the rest of his life.
I cry in an empty nursery.
************
As I search for ways to be productive around the house, flashbacks of the weeks postpartum fill my vision.
I am unable to do anything.
The difficulty of moving with an abdominal wound.
The help I needed but never asked for.
My head spins.
************
Because Eddie wants to sleep permanently in his new room, he and I moved all his clothes to his new dresser.
It will be easier for Cort in the mornings.
I also put his diapers and some wipes in his room.
And then walked around aimlessly all day in a haze.
************
As I pee, I see my idea of the near future.
Trying to take care of postpartum body wounds and “stuff”.
A crying baby.
A needy toddler who thinks he “can do his own self.”
A husband gone to class.
************
I took Eddie’s name off the nursery wall.
He looked at them on the floor and asked me to put them in his “own room”.
I said Ok.
He smiled.
I turned away so he wouldn’t see my tears.
*************
I knew it would be awesome if we transitioned before Charlie was here.
But part of me wasn’t rushing anything.
And then he went and transitioned himself.
Without considering if I was ready.
*************
He can suddenly climb into his booster at the table himself.
He can go get his own tissues and diapers and anything else.
He carries things for me.
He not-so-routinely pees and poos on the potty.
He is so proud.
I…am proud…and heartbroken.
*************
I wanted a happy toddler and a squishy newborn.
But I am terrified.
This is just how it should happen.
And not at all how I thought it would happen.