Stress points

My mom joyfully arrived last week to help with our move. It was nice to have her around, she got to see the girls in all their glories and not so glories. And she was pretty sure I was dropping and going into labor. I feed on this idea. I want the baby out. I can't walk. My Braxton Hicks are strong this time, strong enough to leave me sore. And my OB is concerned about the size. Baby is measuring about 8 pounds. Last week. Now, I don't put much faith in those measurements. Grace was supposed to be 10, but came out at under 8. But, I know she sees a clock ticking now. So better sooner than later.

I appreciated having someone else in the house. I loved having someone else go to the grocery. I was a bit bewildered when she took naps even if I didn't get to, but whatever. She didn't want to leave, feeling certain that would bring the baby. And that she needed to be here for that.

And then she had a serious stress attack (strong enough to make a doctor think it might be her heart) and spent a day at the hospital and then fled home. Because apparently, this life of mine stressed her out deeply.

I understand stress. I understand anxiety. I do. But, I'm disappointed again to I find myself in the place where someone told me to trust them to do something and then they can't. It hurts. But, it's a repeated lesson in my life. Again and again I learn that I cannot depend fully on anyone. Which sounds bleak. Maybe it is. It's also my experience.

And then, there's this - two friends, new friends, promised that they would bring food when the baby comes. As in, you know we're bringing you dinner, right? There is wondrous support all around, and there is always enough to buoy me up. It often comes from places I least expect.

Perhaps that's the more important lesson.