Freaking Out!

OK, so I'm not in full freak out mode, but close enough that I have to get it all out.
Baby G2 is due in eight weeks. That means that eight weeks from today I'll most likely be in tears hoping this kid doesn't pull an Izzy and show up after an induction and nine days late. It also means that I have only eight weeks to get ready for his arrival. And it's safe to say that I've done close to nothing. (Intro irrational fear that I will have nothing ready in time for baby and will be completely unprepared.)
Maybe I've been dragging my feet because there isn't as much pressure with baby number two? When I was pregnant with Izzy there was an urge to have everything absolutely perfect upon her arrival. A painted room with lovely pink and green details to welcome our newest blessing. Truth be told she didn't enter that room until she was four months old. So maybe I don't feel that it's necessary that his room is ready before he gets here? Or maybe it's that I've been so crazed chasing after Izzy and working full time that I haven't wanted to add to my mental stress load? Currently I feel like the worst sister ever because it's been a month since my sister Sarah  had a birthday and I've yet to give her a present. If I can't focus even 20 minutes to get her something nice, why should I pour energy into prepping a room for a baby who won't be in it for another six months. And this also hints at the notion that I'm terrified to take focus away from Izzy or work for fear that Izzy would feel left out and work would spiral out of control. (Just yesterday I finally had a conversation with my boss about handing work over, with Izzy that conversation happened during the second trimester, not eight weeks before due date.)
Besides being overwhelmed with the daily routine or the knowledge I have from my first pregnancy that not everything has to be perfect, I still find myself nearing the edge of panic. It's the same feeling I get as I'm pushing myself to go out and play in the ocean. If you've been to the beach with me, you've probably been embarrassed to be with me as I try to will my body towards the crashing waves. I start gasping for air the second my toes touch the cold waves. My eyes are darting around wondering what obstacles are lurking, masked by seaweed, that I can't predict. Then the shrieking starts. I think something touched my toes, must have been a carnivorous fish!
That's how I feel right now. I've done this before, but I'm still scared. I know how to prepare myself, but the farther I wade into the blue, the more I want to turn and run to the safety of the sand. It's almost as though the less I do to prepare, the more I don't have to face what could be overwhelming and challenging. I know it's time to face my fear of having another baby because that must be at the root of my apprehension. Fear is what stops us all from progressing. So maybe it's like running into the ocean when you're terrified of what could be out there. Sure I may shriek and want to bolt for the safety of what I know, but I need to keep pushing until I find the freedom in letting a wave swallow me up. After all, nothing beats the exhilaration and sense of accomplishment of playing in the ocean.