This is it.

Only two days, two very short, but very far away days until we become the parents of five children. Are we ready? No. But yes. Everything is set up: bassinet is put together and waiting in our room. The little pink and fluffy clothes are washed and stacked neatly in the cupboard. Diapers, check. Binkis, check. Blankets, check. Carseat is installed in the car. The kids have counted down and can hardly wait, and I only have two more miserable nights left. But at the same time, it is bitter sweet. Never again will I feel that overwhelming sense of...being overwhelmed when I see that test stick show two lines. Never again will I feel that first bubbly sensation of a new little person stirring to life within me. This is the last time for those moments of "ouch" as a tiny person has filled up all the space I offer and is stretching for just a bit more room. No more doctor appointments and hearing that ever so reassuring sound of a heart beat that gets me through until the next visit. I'm done with worrying about "how are we going to support ANOTHER one?". And then this is the last time I will anticipate meeting that special new person. There is something so special about that, finally getting to hold that sweet little baby, and not just any baby, but one that we created. This is the last time we will make an early morning trek to the hospital when the air is cool and the darkness is peaceful. We will be nervous as we walk across the parking lot. John always holds my hand tightly and squeezes it reassuringly, hospital bag clutched tightly in his equally just as nervous other hand. The nurses will never again smile at us with that air of excited congratulations they always have as they greet us when we arrive. This is the last time I will have everyone's attention focused on me as I take center stage in such an important event as bringing a new sweet spirit to this world. The kind hospital staff standing over me as they ask questions and get everything ready for this baby. I am sad to know that this is the last time I will hold my breath for that highly anticipated moment as I wait for this precious child to take her first breath and reassure me that all is well with those irreplaceable, beautiful cries! And then that first glimpse of that squalling little one, still wet, and yet so incredibly beautiful and fall completely in love with her at that very first sight. All the staff saying "Congratulations Mom and Dad!" Oh how we waited for those words, and now this is it. Never again. It is so hard to wait to see our sweet new baby as she is wisked off to be checked and cleaned and I remain behind. Those minutes are long until I am in the recovery room and I watch for the curtain to be pulled back and the little nursery bed wheeled in with the tiny person I most want to be with in the world, pushed into the room by the person I most love in the world. This is the last time I will be greeted by the smile John always wears at that moment and he hands me our new baby and leans down to kiss me as he whispers "You did a great job. He/She's beautiful."
This is it, the last time I will give that very first feeding to my sweet little one. I so look forward to that first time, it is almost a craving, taking that baby into my arms and beginning that relationship a nursing mother has with her children that no one else can give them. And then there are the first nights. The nurses always ask if I want them to keep the baby in the nursery at night and feed her a bottle. But I never do. Those nights are some of my favorite. Sleeping quietly in the darkness and yet still somewhat alert. Listening, listening for the sound of my new baby. I will already know her cry from the other mother's babies. And then the door will slowly open, letting the light from the hall softly fill the room as she is brought in, squirming and crying and needing me. It's the last time I will sit there in that soft hospital light and feed my newborn. The last time I will snuggle her into the early morning hours and watch the sun come up and light the room with a dim soft light and I will have no where to go but just to sit there and look into those sleepy eyes and get to know her. Am I ready for it? Oh yes! And yet no. As much as I want to meet her, to have comfortable nights again, to be able to breathe again and walk without pain again, I'm still somber that it is the last time. But I have found comfort in that this is our last child. We feel complete. Olivia told us she had a sister, and now she will be here. Our family is all here now. I am at peace with it. This is it.