Sunday, January 22, 2012

Not a Fan

I always hear lots of women gushing over how much they luuurve being pregnant. How wonderful it is. How feminine they feel. How empowering and incredible the whole process of carrying a child and bringing a life into the world is. Well, I'm here to say I have NEVER felt that way. These amazing emotions and ideas that "most" women feel have completely escaped me.

No, I'm not a fan of pregnancy.

Don't get me wrong. I think it's cool that I have this little life growing inside of me. I love her and all that. However, her brother and sister before her...makes me feel completely awful. Completely. Awful. I'm tired as I've ever been after a long night of partying...and believe me, I've known some long (very fun) nights of partying. And, I'm sick as I've ever been after a long night of partying... all without the benefit of bad (also very fun) decisions and those oh-no memories that creep into your thoughts the next day. Yeah, while all these other women talk about how fan-freaking-tastic they feel when they're pregnant, I'm feeling as hungover as I've ever been in my entire life, and my new BFF is the porcelain god. For months and months on end. Hungover. Without end.
Then there's the weight gain. What. The. Hell? And, this time around, the nurses make me keep a little card with my weight from each doctor's visit as a gentle excruciating reminder that yes, I am gaining weight...I am indeed getting fatter with each and every breathing second. Thanks for that. As if I couldn't tell by the unattractive way that my clothes no longer fit, the increasingly unflattering angles that the mirror produces, or the extra jiggle bouncing from my booty.
And, since my clothes have protested their ways off my body, what's left is the lovely horribly gross disgusting maternity wear. Whichever butthole invented the store Motherhood is, well, a true butthole. I mean, why? Why? Why? Is this the best you can come up with? Poorly stitched jeans, sandpaper-like materials, styles that were popular at the Dress Barn back in the flipping 80s?!?!?!?!? Thanks, but no thanks. There are other stores, some folks profess. Well, yes, yes there are other stores, but they ain't here. Not in this town. And, ordering maternity clothes online is like sending your grandmother to shop for you: Only half of what arrives will fit, and only 5% of that will look decent.

Also not helping pregnancy's cause is the incessant peeing. In the middle of the night, several times a night. I thought this was gonna clear up after the first trimester. I thought wrong. Why was I still  making a break for the potty every other breath? Well, it seems THIS baby girl has positioned herself right on top of my bladder. Awww. Isn't that sweet? So precious. This would also explain the puke-n-pee episode that happened just last week. I mean, really? It just doesn't seem to get any easier.

At least the outcome is absolutely worth it all. Not the delivery part. Oh no, I am definitely not a fan of my south of the equator being a stage for all the world to see. I'm talking about the part where she's out of my body and resting in my arms. I don't even mind the middle of the night stuff or the crying stuff. I love my babies. Love them. I can't wait to see and smell and kiss all over this one. And get my freaking body back.

Monday, January 16, 2012

love her to pieces

Ever since we told the kids that another love would be joining our family, they've each been rooting for one to match their own gender. Ella was ecstatic to have a baby sister, and Summit was certain that the stork would be delivering him a little brother. Me? I didn't really have a preference one way or the other. Not to sound cliche, but really all I want is a healthy baby. That's what weighs most on my mind.

I even toyed around with the idea of waiting until it is born to find out which stereotypical color bow to put on the mailbox. Toyed for a minute. I'm not one for surprises...when I was younger, the very presence of a wrapped gift sitting beneath a tree in the days leading up to Christmas would cause me to have restless leg body syndrome until I'd unwrapped the thing (and wrapped it back - sorry Mom and Dad-) and found out what was inside.

No, I wasn't even able to wait until the 20-week appointment to find out if I'm growing a blue or pink bonnet. Thank goodness for the early, 16-week gender-diagnostic ultrasound. Thank goodness they squeezed me in at closing time when I cracked under the pressure of seeing the machine and needed to know. Right then. And, thank goodness we found out with plenty of time to spare. I hadn't put too much thought into just how ruined one of my non-parasitic (see: umbilical cord no longer attached) kids would be when they found out the results.

To say Summit didn't take it well would be an understatement. He was completely devastated. He cried sobbed bawled for an hour straight. He was furious at me, at Matt, at Ella, at the new baby-to-be. As if we got to pick it out. As if we just ordered up the thing at Target. As if we had just subjected him to the ultimate betrayal: another girl. Eventually, Popi was able to console my forsaken 4-year-old son by explaining all of the benefits of being the only boy (see: fishing, four-wheelers, sword fighting with him while the yucky girls are shopping).

So, it seems that we're welcoming another baby girl into our fold! I had a dream about a sweet, rolly, brown-haired little princess just the other night. We couldn't be more excited! We love her to pieces already.