In a week, we’ll be a family of four. I’ll be the mother of a son and a daughter. Yet most times I still feel I’m a kid myself.

I’m supposed to check into the hospital this Saturday for some preliminary tests. If all goes as scheduled, our baby will enter the spotlight on Monday, February 23 before 9:00am. I’m nervous and excited all at once, and anxieties about it all keep me tossing and turning at night. She is still in breech position so there’s little chance or hope that she’ll do a half-somersault in a week’s time (I’ve never been very flexible in yoga so why should I expect it of her?). This means I’m stuck feeling her head knocking against my ribs, and her feet tap-dancing on the Cesarean scar left from her older brother.

Most people frown when they hear I’m having a C-section - as if something has failed. It’s terrible the way the baby culture of today makes expectant mothers feel they have somehow done something wrong if they do not have a “natural” birth. There are all sorts of classes that help pregnant mothers prepare for a natural delivery - but no sort of class that prepares a mother for the before or after of a Cesarean.

With Mr. Big Eyes, my scar was numb for six months after his birthday - and it depressed me. Also, my legs were numb for 48 hours after his delivery from an over-dosage of an epidural (I think) - which left me sleepless and cranky for the first two nights of his life. They say you forget the pain, and the uncomfortable aspects of child birth. But I haven’t forgotten these two elements and I just hope they don’t resurface this time. If they do, at least I’m prepared.

Then, there’s the breastfeeding. It was a tearful struggle for me at the start and my boobs felt like a cow’s udders. On the day in which my milk came in, my doctor tried to console me by saying, “You’ll feel like Gina Lollabrigida in menopause.” I certainly didn’t feel like glamorous Gina - despite my then newfound cleavage - but I definitely had menopausal, roller coaster hormones taking me for triple-dare rides in the new amusement park of motherhood. I ended up breast-feeding for seven months - something I never imagined I’d succeed in doing at the start.

Breast-feeding became more of a habit for me than a mission. While I always feel that I lose points in the eyes of other mothers when I tell them I had a Cesarean, I then regain them by reporting the length of my breast-feeding. My conclusion? Life is full of so many stupid expectations, and nothing is predictable.

All I want now is all I wanted then: a healthy baby. I don’t care how she comes out but I want her to sky-rocket those hospital tests and look as cherubic as Luca did. My son was in an incubator for a couple of hours after he was born (I remember this only through photographs). But he looked so perfectly pink and rosy that I wasn’t the slightest bit worried about his health. I hope I can feel that way about this baby, too.

I couldn’t help but think that this past weekend was our last of a chapter that’s about to close and a new one about to open. Luca will no longer be the only child. Our dog will now have to withstand two little creatures pulling her tail. My husband and I will quickly become experts of distinguishing the chirpish cries of our baby from the wailing moans of our toddler. And we may not have a proper sit-down dinner or go out to the movies for a while.

Nap time on Sunday was blissful - we all slept for two and a half hours. It may be the last time in ages when the house is quiet on a Sunday afternoon. Tag-team napping will begin again; the baby intercom will be recharged.

Our Bugaboo is in the shop, typically, just days before we’ll need it again. In recent months, Mr. Big Eyes has rebelled against being pushed around on four wheels. He wants nothing more than to stretch his legs and run. But just as he’s set to take off on two feet, we’ll revert back to the Maxi Cosi car seat, the stroller, and someone else, other than our dog, on all fours.

But my husband and I are already talking about a get-away weekend in a couple of months. I refuse to let the doomsday attitude about becoming parents of two take over. Date nights will still be possible - but they’ll require our having to let go more than anything.

It’s the best gift any parent could ask for — a child, and, then a second child, a sibling for the first. And I hope it’s only natural that a mother feels somewhat nostalgic for the past yet apprehensive that she’s not up to doing it all over again. It’s the best challenge I could ask for - and I welcome it. Although a mother-daughter relationship is always complicated, I hope ours will be a friendship. It’ll be nice to have an ally in the house. I just hope she likes me, and doesn’t resent me while we tug her all over the world.

I hope one day she’ll be able to experience these very same feelings I’m having right now if she brings another being into the world - and understand that, even though I don’t know her yet, my pre-natal anxieties stem from massive quantities of immeasurable love.