9 months squished into one week...

I have less than one week until we bring our baby girl home.  That sounds like a lot of time, right?  Ummm, not so much.  I am FREAKING out.  I can't even enjoy reading anymore.  It seems as though my body is responding to the lack of preparation for a child by having me go through the hormonal tempests of a pregnancy in warp speed.  I am trying to calm down and enjoy it all, but usually find the voice in my head screaming as I breathe deeply, "CALM DOWN.  DON'T WASTE THIS TIME!  CALM DOWN!"  Needless to say, this is not helping.  I can't sleep, I'm primed to the pissed off position, and I'm going to the bathroom every five minutes.  The similarities to being 9 months pregnant I am not enjoying.
And I do want to enjoy it.  I want to spend sweet time with Henry during his last week of life at home as an only child.  I want to sew cute little pink things, not to mention the three little onesies I have almost finished for my girls Erin and Audrey's babies.  This did not happen today.  Instead of naptime in his room (which is almost done being painted!), he spent two hours in the pack n play in our room.  I couldn't handle listening to him cry for his room, so naptime became rest in your pack n play and watch PBS time.  That's some good parenting.  What was I doing?  Talking to the insurance company, the adoption agency, our foster mommy, and setting up her 2 week check up.  I'd like to carve pumpkins, go to the zoo, play with trains at Barnes and Nobles, but I'm pretty sure the only thing out of those three that'll happen is the pumpkins.  Friday night.  Not last Sunday afternoon like we'd planned because we had to prep the kids rooms.  But I'm even a bit overwhelmed as to what to do during my break while H is at preschool.  I suspect that I should go to the gym.  A spin class would probably do my head a world of good.  Give my legs a chance to crank out some of the stress and my crotch the opportunity to be thankful she doesn't have to actually give birth.

I also think it would be helpful if I was one of those people for whom cleaning was restful.  Instead, my house is a wreck and I'm too overwhelmed to do anything about it.  (And until the painters leave, there really is nothing I can do about the crib box and oodles of pink stuff strewn about my living room and kitchen.)  I tried to register this afternoon at Babies R Us and started crying because they don't carry Emma Sloan's kind of formula.  Did you even know that something like 85% of African Americans are lactose intolerant?  Em's birthmom isn't so I'm hoping she isn't, but don't want to switch her from the lactose free formula that they put her on in the hospital.  But the bonus is I test drove some double strollers and have definitively crossed out all the tandem styles. 

I was convicted of ignoring Henry throughout this process.  In typical big brother fashion, he has gotten really clingy in the past few days.  And basically, I just keep throwing sippy cups, gold fish, and the Imagination Movers at him.  Every five minutes he wants a hug.    Today at Babies R US, I had to walk down the aisles, registry gun in hand, hunched over hugging my son while he went, "Mmmm, Mommy.  Hugs from Mommy, Mmmmm."  And this made me roll my eyes.  What the heck is wrong with me?  I was really convicted of my hurried heart, my idol of wanting everything to be perfect, of wanting to be in control of everything, and of just simply wanting everything to go my way all the time.  So I had to repent and ask my son for forgiveness.  His response?  "Hugs, Mommy.  Mmmmm.  I you, Mommy.  Mmmmmm.  Mommy my friend."

I did take one thing off my plate this week.  I cancelled on work for Thursday.  I am planning on sleeping in, playing with trains, and perhaps toasting some pumpkin seeds with the boy.  Or maybe hitting Inflation Nation in the morning as Henry, me, and Auntie Robin will be visiting Emma Sloan Thursday afternoon. 

As for tonight, I plan on having a glass of wine (or three).  Watching my angel Jakob and my crumper Russell on SYTYCD, and praying the Tylenol PM kicks in around 10.