I feel so incredibly sorry for this little one in my tummy. Because it feels like this poor baby has nobody in the world who is excited about its arrival. I know mostly it's probably just a third baby thing, it's hard for Shane or I to get that same level of excitement, when you just know what's coming, you know how how tired you're going to be, and you know how hard it is. It's also especially hard to get excited when you spend so much of your time shouting at two other tiny humans, and ferrying them to and from kindy, and school, and ballet, and swimming, and trying to take care of all of their physical and emotional needs, and making sure they are going to cope with another tiny human joining their family. But oh, I feel guilty.
I just feel like this was a really, really poor choice on my part. Not because of this baby. Oh no. This baby I have no doubt is an amazing little human who deserves to be born, and has so much value and worth. But, surely it deserves a better mother?
I was going through the folding soup residing on my bedroom floor today, thinking "you're about to add another persons laundry to this mess you stupid woman!" My house just cannot be clean. I want to nest and make sure I have clothes and a cot and stuff for a baby, but I'm too busy half-assing all my regular housework. And sleep? Oh lord, sleep!? My kids sleeping habits are worse now than they used to be when they were babies! I was so strong at night with them when they were little, and would make sure they always slept on their own beds, and I had babies who slept for twelve hours straight. Yet somehow they've turned into big kids who are scared of bugs and monsters and wolves and they come and sleep in my bed in the middle of night and I have awful tantrums at 2am, because I just simply cannot anymore, when I never did that to a baby. What is wrong with me? And how on earth are we going to cope with a baby on top of this? I'm never going to sleep again!
I should have stopped with the two I had and concentrated on being a better parent to them, rather than try to start over screwing up yet another tiny human. Like seriously, my kids are intense. They are crazy attached to me, and get separation anxiety, and get so aggressive, and have their own social/emotional issues and they are hard work, and what was I thinking adding a baby to their already chaotic lives?
Haven't we already got enough on our plates? My poor husband is studying, and working, and trying to be a good dad, and provide for us. He is working so hard to try and get us ahead financially. He works so hard at uni, and gets 100% on exams and 19/20 on assignments because he is amazing, and I'm supposed to be studying too. But it takes its toll, on all of us as it is, and instead we are going to add to the stress and financial pressure, and am I sure this was a good idea?
I was trying so hard to be fit and healthy throughout this pregnancy. But now I have cancelled my gym membership because I just couldn't anymore, and one hour at the gym would see me in pain, out of commission for the next day with my stupid pelvis. And I didn't get gestational diabetes, which was great, but now I'm packing on the weight like there's no tomorrow, and eating all of the food, because I just don't care anymore. So I'm probably right on track to have another enormously huge baby. And, do I have to have another baby? Giving birth really flipping hurts! And I'm only just remembering that now?
I am just far, far too selfish to be a mother.
Last night when Georgie woke up, I tried to resettle her into her bed (unsuccessfully) and I was praying that God would be her comforter and strength, and that she could just rest secure in his love. I was praying that His perfect love would drive out the fear that consumed her, that He would help her to have peace in Him, and trust in Him. That she would know she is not alone, and that she has value. That He would help her with her fears, and that they would have no place in her life.
And God went.... Hello!!!
And I was like... Oh. Yeah. Right.
So yeah, there's that.