Falls of moms and dogs

When you are growing a baby inside of you, it takes a while for your mind to wrap around the fact that the baby is totally dependent on you. You deal with cycles of feelings, from one extreme to the other, and wonder how anyone else thinks they have "things to worry about" when they aren't pregnant. As soon as you become as comfortable as you can with the idea of having a human inside of you (took me 9 months) something of course happens to shake you up some more. In my case, it was a fall. A fall that landed me on my belly, and in the hospital. I'm still not sure if I just fainted or tripped or what, but I was home alone, scratched up, and terrified that I had just killed my baby. I ended up staying the night in the hospital, having contractions, but everything turned out fine. I won't be convinced that everything is fine until I have my perfect little boy in my arms, breathing and healthy and happy. Or as happy as a newborn can be after being pushed out of his little nest into our cold, big world.
I'm just over 9 months pregnant (turns out pregnancy really is 10 months) and the waiting game has reached its final stages. As I try to ignore fears of labor, motherhood and life in general, my mother-in-law calls to tell us she thinks her beloved dog is dead. Well, as of now he is still alive, but evidently there is no such thing as an Animal Emergency Vet out in this country land I live in now. So after countless calls to random vets, I'm still waiting on a call back....meanwhile the dog has gotten better, and hopefully just suffered some random heatstroke or something. Which of course makes me tear up when I look at my 2 dogs, my first kids, wondering what in the hell I would do if something like that happened to them....this week I will find a vet that I know I can get in touch with after hours. Which of course makes me think of how long it would take to get to a hospital if something terrible happened to my husband or I...or the baby on its way. People that know me well tell me to shut up with the "what ifs" but that's my middle name. How can you be prepared for the terrible things if you haven't "what-iffed" your way to life? Without my what-ifs, I wouldn't have been half as prepared trying to evacuate 2000 people during Katrina; or I wouldn't have remained relatively calm when I found my husband at the bottom of the tub covered in blood. But unfortunatley, events like these fuel my what ifs, make up my nightmares, and threaten to drive me insane. Luckily I usually remember that what happens, happens, and turns out God knows more than me so I better just try to be happy with what I have, and what has happened in my life. And I am. I just have to keep reminding myself. And when the baby kicks I smile, even when it feels like he is trying to rip out my ribs, because I have had a son for 9 months, and I've never seen him before but he's the most beautiful person I've ever known. So with a happy though, I'll say goodnight.