I'm constantly amazed by pregnancy. On one hand, it is so incredibly bizarre to think that there is this miniature person INSIDE of me. He has legs and arms, a nose and two eyes that can now open and close. He moves his little feet and squeezes his hands open and shut. He can swallow and suck on his own fingers. He stretches out his legs and knees me in the kidneys. All he hasn't done yet is cry outloud. The fact that he is in me is astounding. And the fact that I don't know him yet is maddening.
I want to see him and look at his eyes, and his nose, and his tiny ears. I want to see his rosy mouth and his perfect little chin, just like his daddy (I hope). I want to watch his perfectly formed fingers curl around mine. I want to see him recognize our voices in those first early days. I want his eyes to search for mine and stare at me. I want to love him more than anything.
On the other hand, I am not ready for him. Yes, we're prepared in the sense that he will have any material object he needs when he arrives. But mentally, emotionally? Am I ready for him? No, I don't think so. He's safe where he is right now. When he makes his arrival, keeping him safe and happy is all I will want to do...but it will be a thousand times more difficult. Logically I know all he needs to survive is love, shelter, and food. I can provide all of those things and then some. The sheer idea that we are soley responsible for his well-being is a huge responsibility.
But you know what? As incompetent as I feel right now, today, I know that when he is finally here, in 7 short weeks, I will be as ready as I can be. I'll learn as I go with him, and I won't expect anything to be perfect. Except for him. He already is perfect. And will only be more so when we finally get to meet each other.