impatience and fear
It’s June. It’s a month we have been waiting for since mid October last year. It’s a month we have looked forward to like nothing else. It’s the month we sometimes feared would never come.
I prepare for the baby a little every day. The bag isn’t packed yet, but clothes for the baby and for J and for me are ready – as are toothbrushes and toothpaste, and last night I charged the camera’s battery. I shave my legs and every time I pray that this time is the last.
No one knows when the baby will show up. The only thing we know for sure is that in 18 days labour will be induced if I haven’t gone there myself. My nephew is anxious the baby will come today as he wants his birthday to himself, my dad is eager the baby will come on Thursday as he would like nothing better than to share his birthday, my mother and J’s mother are just eager, sitting on needles, wanting the baby to come out so their lives as grandmothers can begin.
June. The sixth month of the year. Usually fills people with impatience because the summer holiday is right around the corner, but this year fills people with impatience because of my due date. At night, secretly, when J is sleeping, I pray. Pray that people return to being interested in their gardens, reading lots of books, next week’s weather and the long summer nights.
Other people’s impatience scares the shit out of me. I want nothing else but to become a mother and to see J as a father and to start the family life we dream of. But I feel suffocated by other people and their expectations. And on rough nights – like late last night – I feel like changing the locks and turning the music up real loud and hope it is enough to keep them out, to regain control. When I freaked out recently, my mother told me to see other people’s impatience as a sign they were really happy for us and wanting us the best. I try, I really do, but sometimes it is difficult not to end up with the feeling that they are thinking about their own needs, claiming the baby before it is even born, not really giving a shit about how we might feel, how we might think it will fit in.
It’s June. My due date is 4 days away. I still pick up the phone when it rings, but every time I wonder when I will stop doing it, when I will be fed up. Days are filled with fear, with too many expectations and too many unknown things I wish I believed J and I would be allowed to work out ourselves in time, but which I know various people will want to influence once they realise we are undecided.
But mostly, thankfully, luckily, days are filled with impatience. My impatience. J’s impatience. It is after all our baby, our life, our summer that lies ahead of us.