Not about me. Not My Schedule.

By Vincepal via Flickr Creative Commons

Torture. That’s always been my definition of waiting.

I know, impatience isn’t very yogi of me. Even at the height of my yoga practice, I found waiting difficult. Waiting for my body to do what I wanted as my practice progressed? Not my favorite part.

Parenting, though, has served as the most amazing lesson in patience, humility, and faith. It’s not about me. Nine tenths of the decisions I make on a daily basis have nothing to do with me, my wants, or my needs. Pregnancy’s obviously meant to prepare women for that. That’s what I think, anyway.

For most of my life, I’ve pretty much known what I want and how to get it. When buying things I needed, I did my research and bought them. No compulsive buying or window shopping here. Well, ok. Maybe some… My mom never liked shopping so she didn’t take us to the mall much as children and I just never acquired a taste for wandering around all day searching for things I might want or need. My husband frequently clarifies how much he loves this trait, in case I were to ever consider changing.

Just because I can delay gratification until I find the right thing, however, doesn’t mean I’m any good at waiting. Once I make up my mind on what I need (or often just want), I want it immediately. Buying a car or house, which can require waiting for financing, challenge me. Waiting for a baby in the final trimester? One of the hardest things ever.

Most of this pregnancy (i.e. 1st and 2nd trimesters) I found contentment in watching my belly grow and bonding with my toddler one-on-one, while I still could. Chasing Little Man around was still fairly easy and my belly didn’t pose much of an obstacle. Luckily, in my third trimester, I’ve had plenty of big life distractions, but now I’m in the home stretch and I’m ready. Wednesday’s my due date and, for some reason, I’ve had it in my head this whole time that this baby would be earlier than my very punctual first baby, who was born 12:23 PM on his due date. Part of the reason: my much larger stomach. Yes, I do know most women’s bellies grow faster for each baby after their first. Ok, fine. An early baby was what I wanted and there were no real signs to back up my suspicion.

I know there’s no way to really know when I will give birth. It’s all up to the little one growing inside me to decide he’s ready. And that’s what I want. I really want him to be completely ready. More than anything. Aside from wanting him strong and healthy of course. That’s a major part of the reason I chose the more natural route in the first place.

I don’t believe in early induction or scheduled anything for any reason outside of a medical necessity/emergency. But this part is hard! It’s so hard to relinquish control and trust that he’ll come at the perfect time for him. For now, I’ll just have to find satisfaction in improving on my waiting skills.

Maybe it’s just time for me to finally read Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance: An Inquiry into Values by Robert Pirsig?

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