The racing heart; unable to breathe. Last night I had my first panic attack. Mild - but certainly something different than I have ever experienced before. The interesting thing is I'm not panicked. Don't get me wrong, I have a lot to do before the baby is born. But the paint samples are taped to the wall and we have a good sense of what we still need to borrow or purchase to get us through the first few months. And, I have an amazing partner, who tackles each task with interest and fervor.
And work is going well. I'm slowly hammering out the details. Each day, getting a little closer to feeling comfortable that things are going to be "good to go" before I head out on maternity leave.
The only thing I worry about is this little one inside me. As my belly grows, I worry that I just don't have enough of "me" to cradle him for the next three months. I'm stretched to what seems like the limit. My muscles are strained and my skin is tight. So I must remind myself that women do this every day - and that in fact my body was custom-designed for this job. And, I must have faith that I have treated it well in the last 34 years, and that in the end she'll deliver (excuse the pun.)
Thank God for Chris, who is so patient and kind. He's barely to bed before I'm up for the first time. And last night, as I struggled to tell him how I was feeling, he just sat with me while I took a few deep breaths and tried to settle back into a natural rhythm.