"Stuck in the middle with you."

It took seven months, but I'm finally able to articulate what I dislike about being pregnant. I'm talking about the real reason. The reason beyond all the superficial explanations I've been spouting off to anyone willing to listen. ("I'm fat. I would kill for a glass of wine. I'm fat. I can't get in and out of the car. I'm fat.") I've been miserable because I feel stuck.

I've spent the last seven months in limbo land between my old life and my new life. Brian and I were very much the couple about town. We now spend our evenings trying to find a television show we both enjoy. Work is getting difficult, but I'm not ready to give that part of myself up yet. I'm watching my tummy expand, but I can't revel in the changes being made in her. The nursery is complete, but no baby to watch sleeping in the crib. It's like I'm five years old awake in bed on Christmas Eve, straining to hear the sound of Santa's sleigh on the roof, watching the minutes tick by on the alarm clock, and morning just can't come fast enough. I'm stuck in the middle with my kiddo.

I dislike being pregnant because it's the ultimate test of my patience, something that's never been my strongest quality. Where's the "easy" button button for this? In my utopia, you take a pregnancy test, go to sleep, and wake up with a beautiful little baby. No time to stress out about expanding waistlines. No time to miss evenings out with the husband the way they used to be. No time to stress about the pain of labor, or the pain of the needle in my spine to prevent the pain of labor. Sigh.

I know this must sound pretty negative. Am I even excited about our baby? Yes. YES! That's the other problem. I want to hold her. I want to kiss her little feet. I want to watch her chest rise and fall as she sleeps. I want to listen to my husband read bedtime stories to her. What color eyes will she have? Whose nose (Brian's, I hope). Is she smart? Charming? I want all this right now.

So the good news? This won't last forever, this awful, stuck-in-the-middle land of waiting. Nine more weeks of waiting. Before I know it, I'll tuck her into bed on Christmas Eve and tell her she has to wait until the morning....and I'll pour my skinny self a glass of wine and put together her toys.