I keep expecting to wake up at 4:30am to a silent house and have my water break. It doesn’t seem to be happening.

I know that this pregnancy is different, is unique. But when a contraction wakes me up, I always look at the clock and think, “Is it 4:30? Is this happening again?”And then I have a minor panic attack until a few minutes pass and I realize that, no, it’s not happening.

It’s kind of draining to relive moments of my pregnancy with the Munchkin every single night/morning at 4:30. I don’t think people should be forced to think much or feel more at that hour. And so, physically, I’m being beaten from the inside. And emotionally, I’m being slammed over and over. I shut my eyes. And I try to get to my happy place. But between the contractions and the memories… I’m usually up for another full hour. An hour of physical and emotional pain.

I keep expecting things to happen. And they don’t.

This whole labor and delivery thing is different than all the prior ones. And I’m in a small state of panic.

When I birthed BigBrother, there was little else to worry about at the time. People came and visited. People brought flowers. My Husband only left my side once to run home and grab a few things that we had forgotten since I was sent straight from the doctor’s office to the hospital for delivery due to my health issues. It was a thousand times better than Munchkin’s delivery which involved minimal visitors, judgmental hospital staff, no flowers and, you know, that whole physical relinquishment part. BigBrother’s birth was actually quite wonderful in comparison.

But this time? I’ve got all this anxiety.

Even though BigBrother was my second birth and delivery experience, I didn’t have a child at home to worry about as well. If this new little guy decides to come during the week, we’re really pressed for what to do with his older brother. I mean, we have plans but they aren’t “optimal.” (Read: they’re not what I want.) In fact, one set of plans (as we have many) involves my Husband leaving me at the hospital, alone, at night while he goes home to be with our older son.

Pardon me while I totally freak out.

I’m not scared of alone time with the new baby. No, that’s not the issue. I don’t want to be alone in the hospital. When I was admitted for preterm labor at twenty-six weeks during this pregnancy, TheHusbandMan had to go home to stay with BigBrother during the overnight hours. If it wasn’t for the sleep medication, I wouldn’t have been able to stay. I had a panic attack as soon as they started talking about an overnight stay, knowing that my Husband wasn’t going to be able to stay with me.

It’s not specifically my Husband that I want with me. Okay, that sounds weird! I do want him with me. But quite frankly, if he can’t be there, I’ll take a friendly janitor, posing as someone who loves and cares about me. Because being alone in the hospital, in relation to pregnancy or the actual delivery of a child, is very triggering for me. Memories and bad feelings come swirling back. Being alone in the hospital for multiple surgeries during Munchkin’s pregnancy and after her delivery have left me absolutely petrified of being alone in similar but different circumstances.

Do you know how quiet but simultaneously un-quiet a hospital is at night? I do. And I don’t like it. I don’t like being left alone with thoughts and memories. I want my Husband to sleep, uncomfortably, on the couch/bed next to mine. I want visitors non-stop. I want my baby in my room at all times. I don’t want to face those demons that come out in the quiet-but-not-so-quiet midnight hours.

And so, I’ll just sit around and panic about this particular issue, knowing that it wouldn’t be an issue if this little guy would come out today (as tomorrow is Veteran’s Day). However, he seems to have calmed down the uterus shaking since yesterday. Interesting.

I swear I have song lyrics left. I just got overwhelmed with emotion.