He is perfect and wonderful and healthy.

Right now, I’m in 24-7 feed-the-baby mode. My husband calls me The Dairy Queen.

Will blog more as soon as I get more than 5 minutes. And can think of what to say — because there’s so much to say. And really nothing else except:

I’m in love, I’m in love, I’m in love.

Here’s what I won’t miss about being pregnant:

-Peeing myself

-Heartburn

-That shooting pain up my left side.

-Waking up every 2 hours in the night to pee (which is sort of a trade-off because now I’ll have to wake up every 2 hours to feed the baby)

-Excruciating back pain

-Feeling like I’m walking around with a blood-filled football jammed between my legs

-Waddling

-Waves of nausea

-Co-workers/bosses/people laughing because I’m pregnant and eating or pregnant and waddling or just pregnant in general.

Because apparently it’s funny. 

While I think, “You try making a person, buddy. And see how funny it is.”

I still can’t believe it. It’s been such a strange pregnancy. But here’s what I’ll miss about being pregnant:

-Eating ice cream and not feeling guilty. How good it tastes: cold and creamy and delicious.

-Being nice to myself because I know I need to. Taking it easy. Lying down on the couch and having my husband give me a much-needed break.

-Knowing my baby is with me, wherever I go. Feeling his little kicks and talking to him.

-Listening to my body. Instead of just pushing it all the time.

-Getting to leave work early because I’m pregnant.

-The anticipation.

-Not dieting.

-Thinking my big belly is beautiful.

-Feeling that, despite it all — all the tiredness and the nausea and the feeling crappy in general — something special is happening to me.

Everybody was in high spirits. There were donuts and cupcakes and everybody got a sugar rush. It felt like summer vacation. A break. The start of something new.

Then we got an email from our employer, the publisher. Sales are down, revenue is down. Layoffs are coming. And now we’re furloughed for 15 days. Which means we won’t get paid for a month. It’s also called a reduced increase in salary. Imagine three weeks of your paycheck gone, evaporated.

So there’s that. Which isn’t good, especially with all these hospital bills about to roll in.

I called my agent because I hadn’t heard from him in 7 weeks and I needed to know what was going on, even though I already knew what was going on, I knew that if I hadn’t heard from him, it wasn’t good. But I still hoped. And worried. And couldn’t sleep.

We played phone tag for awhile. His assistant was kind and chipper and I took that as a sign, that maybe my novel wasn’t tanking all over New York. I thought, Maybe I still have a chance.

My agent called back at 4 p.m. to tell me that all the editors he’d sent the book to had passed. 

And now there’s that.

I feel so bad. I don’t have words.

I’m having a baby in four days. And I don’t know how I’m going to do it.

All this worry, all this stress. Because I wanted to sell my book and get more time with the baby. More time to work on my own career.

All my hopes and dreams, trashed. And there’s nothing for it. There’s no way to fix it. There’s nothing to do but pace and white-knuckle it and wish I had never dreamed in the first place.

- “Is that a contraction? Or Braxton-Hicks? Or indigestion from lunch?”

- “Where are my Tums?”

- “Wow. Look at those cankles. I look like Orca the Teenage Whale.”

- “3:30 p.m. 3:30 p.m.! This clock must be wrong.”

- “25th visit to the ladies’ room. I think this bare patch is a path I’ve worn into the carpet.”

- “If I get home and my husband asks ‘What’s for dinner?’ I will kill him.”

- “Oof. Ow. Ouch. Hey, that hurt!” (when the baby kicks).

- “Man, I think this baby is going to be a 10-pounder.”

- “Yep. About to pop any minute.” (Through clenched teeth when co-workers say “Wow, you look like you’re going to pop any minute” & then laugh. Because it is so funny! That is so funny! I’m laughing so hard right now!)

- “Sob. Sob, sniffle.”

It’s not that bad. But then it is. It depends. Being pregnant has its moments. Like when a random stranger holds the door open for you or your husband lets you have the last dinner roll.

But anytime after 3 p.m. in the office is not one of them.

Where we are now.

Where we will be when with new baby comes.

Where we would be if I quit my job.

I’ve heard so many people say, “We worked up a budget and realized that minus the day-care costs, we’d actually be saving money. So Joanie or Janey or Jezebel quit her job! Now she’s staying home with the baby. And she loves it! Can’t you do that?”

You would think I’d be able to do that. I really don’t make that much money.

But my budget says that if I quit my job, we could cover the mortgage and the majority of monthly bills. But we wouldn’t have enough left over to pay for groceries, clothes, diapers, formula, hospital bills and anything extra expense we’d run across during the month (like an oil change or a visit to the dentist).

So here’s the truth: I’m scared of quitting my job. I’m terrified that I would be putting my family in financial jeopardy. Even though it’s something that I want desperately.

I read articles like this one on “Regrets of a stay-at-home mom” and I know that my fears are all too real. But then I read about other mom bloggers and how you’ll never get this time back with your kids and how sometimes you need to take a leap of faith and the money will work itself out.

But will it?

I feel so torn. My head says, “Stay. Work. This is the way the world works now. You can’t survive without a double income.”

But my heart says “Go.”

And I’m endlessly torn between the two of them.

I probably didn’t need to fall apart at work and be a total drama queen…but being 9 months pregnant, staring down a C-section and lack of sleep will do that to you.

I still don’t know how his first day went exactly. The teachers said he did fine. I asked Henry a thousand questions when we got home and he wasn’t too forthcoming. He was shy and quiet about it and wouldn’t say anything. It was probably all so new.

He got along with the other kids fine and made some new friends. But he couldn’t sleep during nap time and I hate to think about him, lying in the dark for two hours…what he thought about and if he was scared or lonely.

So we took him to the pool last night as a special treat. His  favorite thing to do is jump into the water and we catch him. He makes funny faces and launches himself into the air and it just pure joy — to watch him, to laugh and be together as a family.

“Just look at that face,” my friend and fellow working mom said. “It couldn’t have been too bad.”

I was worried Henry might fuss about going back to his new school this morning, but he was up and at ‘em. He said, “I want to see my friends!” He strapped on his back pack and his dad took over the drop-off duty for me.

Phew.

And my maternity leave is just 3 short weeks away. Which means that we can do shorter days at the new preschool until Henry gets used it. And I’m really looking forward to that.

Ups and downs, man. I’ll tell you. It’s rough. One day, I feel like jumping out a window. The next, I feel so happy and lucky and blessed — just to be with my family.

It’s hard work, being a working mom. But seeing that 3-year-old face — jumping into the water, making that leap — makes it all worth it.

Many of my working mom friends have them. I was surprised when I found out I wasn’t the only one. But other friends have confessed that they fall apart at the office too — with crying jags in their car or in the bathroom or in some small private cubicle.

It’s something we all do, apparently, but rarely talk about.

Henry started a new pre-school today. He was so scared.

I kept it together and talked about how much fun it was going to be.

“You’re going to make so many new friends,” I said.

“You’re going to get to play in a big sandbox. And do new art projects. And learn new things – about the stars and the sky and new languages.”

I held his hand and walked him into his new pre-school. We met with his teacher again (he’s already visited twice) and got him started playing toy dinosaurs with the other boys. I left his new lunch box on his hook with his thermos. This was the first time I’ve ever packed his lunch. I gave him a big hug and told him how much fun he was going to have and how proud I was of him.

And then I left.

I got to work and kept it together for about an hour, going through email and doing a few quick projects.

Then I stopped. And fell apart. And now I’ve been a mess, basically, on and off for most of the day.

I’m trying not to think about it, because it can’t be helped.

But I wonder how he’s doing and if he’s okay. I wonder if he’s still sad. If he’s lonely. If he’s made any friends. I wonder if he’s confused and if I could have done a better job, prepping him for what his new day would be like. I wish I would have gone over the schedule with him, hour by hour, so that he’d know what to expect. I wonder if he’s still scared. And I wish I could be there with him.

That I could make everything okay. But instead I’m here, at work, typing this.

And I’ll be honest, I’m feeling a little crazy/wiped out/scared out of my mind/excited/nervous/afraid/fatigued and speechless.

I feel like I can’t think about daycare right now. I can’t worry about it, I can’t obsess about it, I can’t even entertain it as a concern — because I have a much bigger job ahead of me.

I’ve got to get this baby out. And I’ve got to do it healthy. I’ve got to put aside the stress and the worries as much as possible so that I can focus on him. On giving birth. On getting through this.

I feel like I’m in this strange limbo land. Where I really don’t have much to say. 

I am scared of the birth. Last time, it hurt like hell and it took forever and it was pretty freakin’ traumatic and to be honest, I can’t really imagine going through all that again. But there’s not getting around it. So I try to focus on the positive.

And sort of just veg out.

I’m reading “The Paris Wife.” And really enjoying that. Going to the pool with the family. Floating around. Playing with Henry. Catching him when he soars into the air. Watching his new freckles pop out.

Just trying to be in the moment — not worry about the past or the future. To be in the present with him. And with my husband.

And to get ready for this little new guy. Who is going to change everything.

-I’d like to stay home the first year with the baby.

-Put Henry in a part-time preschool. Nine a.m. to three p.m. would be ideal. Nine to 12 p.m. is a possibility. It would be more affordable, but I don’t know how much writing work I would get done.

I don’t think this is the craziest, most out-there dream, even if it feels like it sometimes.

But here are a few of the problems standing in my way:

-I have a strong fear that if I leave my job now, I won’t get another one like it again. I’m a staff writer at a major media organization. It took me three years to land this job. I worry that if I get out now, I won’t be able to get back in. I tried freelancing for a year, but the money I made wasn’t enough to keep us afloat. The freelance market is even worse now.

-My husband is a high school English teacher. We have a house and a car payment. We need a double income to continue to have a house and a working car. (Even though sometimes, I feel like saying, “Oh to heck with it all anyway. I’d rather be with my kids!”)

-If I quit my job now, how would we afford college? What about elementary & high school? (We just moved to a new neighborhood for the schools.) How would we afford clothes and food and hospital bills? What if my husband lost his job? What would we do then?

These are the kind of questions that keep me hanging on, working 30 hours a week (which really has been a god-send) and trying to keep it together.

But in a perfect world, I would like to find another means of income. That would offer more flexibility. And would mean that I wouldn’t have to put my baby in daycare, at least for the first year.

So I’ve been working on that. Putting out seeds in the ground, hoping to find another way to make money so that I can be with this baby.

Keep on trying. There’s no other way.