I know what you're thinking.... didn't she say last pregnancy last pregnancy? Yes, I did. But, in my defense, I did think Edie was my last baby. I was convinced our family was complete. At that point in time, I was also unable to see through the thick haziness that is sleep deprivation into a future that might possibly consist of more babies. I was wrong and I'm so glad that I was.
This time is final final. Final final, as in, Joe is scheduled to make sure of it. In my mind, if I grow them, birth them, and feed them. I figure the least he can do is make sure we don't have any more of them. After all, a healthy marriage is all about balance. And knowing when to shut up and when to pour a glass of wine for your exhausted, stressed out wife. And when to grovel and when to apologize. Mostly, though, it's all about balance. And permanent birth control.
We find out who the little human growing inside of me is this coming Monday. For some reason, I'm anxious as fuck about the possibility of it being a boy. I thought I really wanted a boy but now I'm not so sure that I'll be a good boy mom. The unknown is scary and the known feels like a safer bet. Plus, being a feisty broad gives me a one-up in raising feisty little broads. But raising a boy? How in the actual fuck am I supposed to do that when I have no idea how to be a boy? (It should be noted that Joe is hoping for another girl because boys scare the shit out of him, too.)
My hair gets lighter during pregnancy. It's the weirdest damn thing.
My boobs have tripled in size this pregnancy and it is supremely awesome. With Edie, they didn't get this big until the last few weeks or so which didn't bother me as much as it sucked for Joe. At that time, I was at the stage in pregnancy where I resented the shit out of his potent fertility for making me so miserably pregnant (rationale isn't a strong suit of mine while waddling and hormonal) that there wasn't a chance in hell I was letting him even remotely close enough to me to touch them. This time... well... let's just say he's enjoying the time when I'm not blaming him, and him entirely, for the mutant spawn I'm incubating.
For some (likely hormonally driven) reason, I thought white maternity jeans would be a good idea. They were not.
Do you find it as unfortunate as I do that I don't really care for sweets while pregnant? It's like some cruel joke the universe has decided to play on me. "Here, mere mortal, thou shall crave this kale! Crave this green juice! Crave another avocado!" How about fuck you, Universe.
My desire to nest has been fierce this pregnancy. I didn't really have it with the girls but this baby is giving me all the desire to create a new level of cozy in my home and plant all the flowers in all of the clay pots I can get my hands on. I wonder if my pre-baby self is tired of shaking her head in disgust yet?
Who's looking forward to being eight months pregnant during a southern humid summer while squeezing her huge ass into a spandex torture device?!?! ......CRICKETS.