Change

Change is a funny thing. Sometimes I embrace it, push it, suggest it, crave it. Other times, I fight it with every fiber of my being. There is a joke about Episcopalians and change, and I always find it funny, because it is very true of me. Whether it has to do with my Episcopalian-ness, or just me, I like it. It goes like this:

"How many Episcopalians does it take to change a light bulb?"
"1, and then a committee to meet to talk about how much they liked the old one."

Today was a day filled with changes, and perhaps being 8 months pregnant has something to do with my placing a great deal of significance on today, or perhaps today really was significant. I had so many ups and downs today, you'd have thought I lived on a roller coaster. And let's just say, I don't think I handled any of these changes well.

I woke up this morning with a feeling of loss. My last summer as a woman with no children is officially over. Yes, I've been going in to work all month, but that was by choice. Today was required. And as I showered, I thought about all the things I didn't do this summer but could have, should have, and all the free time I will never ever ever have to myself again. Ever. And yes, I do know that I entered into this new change approximately 8 months ago, and did so by choice. That was not lost on me, and the guilt I felt as I continued to feel regretful didn't do anything to help me.

On the other hand, I'm 5 weeks away from welcoming the biggest, greatest, most significant change in my life to date. As I chatted with folks today about the upcoming due date, I found myself saying things I haven't said in a while. When asked, "How are you holding up?" I would answer things like, "Pretty well, actually," and "I'm really excited!" rather than "Hot, tired, sore, and cranky," which has been my unofficial mantra for about 4 months. The people around me are supporting me and are happy for me, and that has lifted me up and given me something to hold onto. The light at the end of the tunnel probably doesn't hurt, either.

I worked all day, and didn't get nearly as much done as I had hoped. And I'm exhausted. And nowhere near ready for anything I had wanted to be ready for. I was working well until lunchtime, when I went home to feed my dog. When I got back, I found out that the substitute I had arranged for last spring had come in while I was gone to inform my principal that she had taken another job and would not be covering my maternity leave. If you've ever tried to find a substitute for Spanish Immersion, you have some idea of how I felt. If not, I have a favorite metaphor that I use: I am now officially up Shit Creek without a paddle. Finding a bar in a dry county might be easier than finding someone to cover a maternity leave at Spanish Immersion who a) speaks good enough Spanish, b) can tolerate little kids, and c) is able to work that long without already being booked for several other jobs.

But then I put out a plea for help to my Facebook Universe: I can't move things in my classroom and more than about 10 minutes of physical activity either exhausts me or causes some part of me to swell uncontrollably. I need help. And help came. Quickly, generously, enthusiastically. And I may get to see some people I haven't seen in a very long time. I was amazed and overwhelmed by the kindness of the people who care about me and their willingness to work in my classroom during their own last days of summer break, even if I can't be there with them. I cried a little. That's par for the course for me lately, but still. It means a lot to have that kind of deep support.

As I was preparing to leave work for the day, I encountered a small personal crisis not related to school or pregnancy. So of course, I panicked, lost my marbles, shut my door, and sobbed. Then I problem solved, and sobbed a bit more after getting off the phone with some very rude individuals who acted like I was the reason for their mistakes. I'm not exaggerating. Other people really were to blame for this, and I had to deal with their problems, and they acted like it was my fault. After that, I left work. I put on my sunglasses (inside), held my head high, and marched out of school. I had to be done. My body was officially telling me I was past my limit.

When I got home, I showered, napped, and my husband and I went to a newborn care class. We have been attending childbirth classes, hospital tours, and doing research on several other things. It has been overwhelming. Lots of information, lots of surprises, lots of uncertainty. I tried not to dwell on how crazy I felt the day had gone. The car was quiet. Rob turned to me and said, "It's going to be OK. Our baby will arrive, someone will cover your class, we will be good parents, and we will figure out everything we need to figure out. You don't want to believe me right now, but it will happen." And I almost cried again. He is right. Of course.

The newborn care class was 2 full hours. But, I didn't find myself surprised, or blindsided, or worried. I'm sure that will all change when she's "on the outside," but from what we heard and saw tonight, not only will our child survive, we will too. Heck, we have a good chance at... dare I say... doing a really good job? And even maintain our sanity?

As scary and new as pregnancy has been for me, one thing I know is that I can do kids. Babies to toddlers to elementary, I actually have a good deal of knowledge and experience. Have I ever breast fed? No, but I have swaddled, shushed, rocked, and bathed a baby. I have communicated with a toddler. I have soothed a 4th grader. I have even provided a listening ear for a teenager or two. I won't be a perfect parent, there's no such thing. But at least I can go to bed tonight feeling like I have a leg up on the whole baby care thing. And when I wake up at 3am to pee for the millionth time, I can hold on to some hope for tomorrow, too, because my husband also has knowledge, experience, and courage. So together, something is bound to go right.