It's the end of the world as we know it, and I feel ...

Hilary at 39 weeks

Today is November 4. Hilary's due date is the 11th, which, if my math is correct, means we only have four days until this baby arrives.

We are in the home stretch. Hilary could go into labor at any moment, and it wouldn't be the least bit troubling -- at least not to the medical personnel.

People ask me how I am feeling, and I feel like I should be honest. So here is what is going through my mind, for the record.

I am excited. My sister lives five minutes away from me, and her daughter is nearly a year old. Every time I go over to visit her she gives me this big gap-toothy grin, and I melt. And my niece does it too! But I only see her once a week or so, so the thought of getting that kind of reaction on a daily basis brings a smile to my face.

I am intrigued. I've heard it said that having a child is the most selfish thing a person can do. It's our own little experiment, conducted in our private little home laboratory. Our child is a lump of clay, and we get to try to shape him into what we think the modern person is supposed to be like. We are God, creating a little man in our own image. At least until McDonalds and Disney take over in a few years.

I am intent. My parents have given me and my siblings everything we could want over the course of our lives. Love, affection, support. I always said to myself that the way to pay them back is to do the same for my children.

I am arrogant. Anyone who knows me knows I am not shy about voicing my opinions, and that I have pretty strong convictions in a lot of areas. I believe we will be able to teach our child exactly what is the correct behavior in every situation.

I am humbled. I am smart enough to realize that I don't know shit, and I'll probably learn over and over and over and over and over that I have no idea what I'm talking about, and our child will forge his own way no matter what we do.

I am mourning. My life, as I know it, is basically over. Yesterday I played Baseball Stars on my old-school Nintendo for four hours in the afternoon, mostly because I knew that four free hours to do as I please will be damn hard to come by pretty soon. Pretty fucking soon.

I am nostalgic. I feel the way I did during the final few weeks of my senior year of college. Even as I enjoyed myself and lived it up the best I could, I felt a giant countdown clock following me around at all times reminding me the party was coming to a close. Responsibility lurked around the corner.

I am optimistic. When I was a camp counselor in college, I routinely slept 3-4 hours a night for 10 straight weeks. I know what it means to function with little to no rest. Surely caring for an infant will be a similar experience, right? RIGHT?

I am unprepared. Yes, the baby's room is in order and the car seats are installed, but those are just materials. Emotionally, I cannot fathom what is about to happen. Even having watched my siblings and close friends do this from a short distance, I feel as unaware of what is coming as the child resting snugly in Hilary's belly.

Finally, I am accepting. No matter how anxious or nervous I get, I can do nothing to alter reality. This is happening. Can we do this? Can we handle it? It doesn't matter. We are doing, we will handle. I know this to be true, even as my brain tries to convince me otherwise.

I keep telling myself things will get back to normal eventually. I just have no idea what that normal will look like.