Clunking Up the Hill

People keep asking me how I'm doing right now.  "How are you feeling? Are you ready?" I've finally put a finger on how I'm feeling:

I feel like I'm climbing that first hill on that old, wooden roller coaster at playland.  If you live in Vancouver you know exactly what I'm talking about. (You know, the one you wonder how in the world it's still around and how in heaven's name it hasn't collapsed yet?) Even if you haven't been on this coaster, you've probably been on one like it.  The ones that start with the big climb.  

So you're in the ride, you're buckled in. You've committed, and there's no going back. Shoulder to shoulder with other anxious and nervous riders. You're waiting for everyone to load and with one giant lurch you start moving.  Then, your neck is wrenched as your seat tips awkwardly backwards at an impossible angle.  And there you are, climbing up that first big hill.  Up and up, clunking along.  You're waiting for the top, waiting for the release over the edge.  You can see it, it's coming, you're straining to make it to the top of that first hill...equally terrified and excited.  

That's us.  That's how I feel right now.  We're in this.  We're waiting.  We've been on this ride before, we know what to expect, but there's the new nervousness "Will this seat belt hold?  Will I fall out? Why am I here?  Who convinced me to go on this ride, again?" Anticipation.  Nervousness. Excitement. Slight panic: "I want offfff!"

In 3 days our whole world will change.  Our home will be fuller, our days will be busier, our sleep will be more disjointed, and Lord willing, we will embrace a daughter in our arms.  How does one prepare for this? It's so bizarre to know the day that everything is going to change- like that approaching peak of the coaster. There's nothing more we can do to get ready.  No more rooms to stock, bags to pack, and although there are things to clean I have little motivation or ability to clean them.  We're booked in, this is happening, it's marked on the calendar.  

Maybe this all sounds melodramatic, but I feel the gravitational pull of past experiences and the thrill of the new adventure all packed into one big rolling emotion.  So little can be known about what is ahead, although much is already 'planned' for.  Such a bizarre feeling.  We know what it's like to have a baby.  We know the joy and the terror, the fun and the insanity, the incredible highs and lows.  But then, we don't know what this child will be like and how we will journey through this season for the third time.

I remember the physical pain and discomforts, the relentless feedings, the sore shoulders, the stretched emotions and the constant carrying and holding.  O dear.  How are we going to make it through?  But I also remember the first moments holding and kissing my boys. The incredible wonder of a new life, a new creation, a new soul.  Lips to cheeks and toes. My heart might explode at being in that place of loving a little child so deeply but being just as equally terrified about the responsibility of caring for her.

But for now, we can only imagine what is ahead.  For now, I'm just buckled in, committed, and clunking up this last big hill.  I can see it, the edge is coming.  The thrill is just ahead and I'm slightly panicked, but there's no going back.