It's starting to hit me

I woke up obscenely early this morning and could not fall back to sleep.
The only things keeping me company were my thoughts running wildly
and then IT hit me.
I’m having a baby.
And then IT hit me again…
I’m not ready for this baby to come.
40 weeks is not nearly enough time for a procrastinator, like myself, to get ready for a baby.

By this time, when I was pregnant with Abrie, I had all of her clothes washed, folded and neatly tucked away. Then I would pull them out, unfold each outfit, adore their cuteness, fold them perfectly, and tuck them away again.
This was a ritual I repeated almost weekly.

I had the car seat out with the buckles placed on the smallest setting. Everything was inspected multiple times to make sure it was in proper working order.

The crib was set up and ready to go with the bedding perfectly placed. Her blankets were hung decoratively over the side and the plushest stuffed animals vignetted the corners of the crib.

Flash forward with me now to child #4, current day.

I have not a thing ready.
No clothes folded neatly.
No car seat out with the buckles placed on the smallest setting
(or even purchased for that matter)
No crib set up and ready to go.
No bedding with soft new sheets.
No stuffed animals vignetting the corners.
No nothing.

Poor child #4.
Come to think of it, I was child #8 and I’m sure I had it a lot worse.

My mom probably never had time to even think about me being born.
She probably delivered me in between her errands of running to the grocery store and car pooling for soccer. My guess is it was something like a drive-thru delivery. I imagine it was very similar to going through the Mcdonalds drive-thru, but instead of ordering a #1 with a large Diet Coke you pull up to a window, ask for the doctor on call, order an extra strong epidural (but not too strong, you still have soccer to carpool), and a prescription of happy pills (biggie sized) to go.

And a car seat!? Forget about car seats. Who has time to even think about car seats with child #8? They probably wrapped me up tightly in bubble wrap to ensure a safe trip home from the hospital.
I probably slept in a make shift crib made from a small card board box with old t-shirts laid down at the bottom for sheets. And when my brothers and sisters friends would come over they were filled with disappointment to see that it was a baby in the box and not a puppy.
I probably used old tube socks wrapped around me and secured with duct tape for diapers. And the only clothing they could round up in such short notice of time was probably my brothers footy pajama’s which were 5 sizes too big, but that’s okay; I’m sure they tied knots at the bottom of the footies and cut off any excess material to make a comfortable fit.
I probably went a good month or two without any baby necessities until my Mom had enough time to make it to the store and buy me everything a baby needs.
I’m pretty sure that’s how it went for me.

So technically, my dear sweet child #4 has nothing to complain about. I’ll always have it worse than she did…

And I had to hike to school, up hill, both ways, in the snow, with no shoes on.

*Alternative Title: Commas Gone Wild