running thoughts in the middle of a final pregnancy

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. 

5 things from the week

HI THERE!

Remember me?

Since I've been gone, only a few minor things have gone down: I turned 30 (whoopdeedo), Joe and I celebrated five years of marriage (which feels like one year and fifty, simultaneously), I began the nine month process of growing another human (yes, another), and I enrolled my oldest baby into kindergarten (...what the fuck, right?). As you can see, we've been busy. This week, I would like to address the growing another human part.

1. No matter how many times I've seen or bought little baby things, the first purchase for a new baby never stops being special. Kimono tops and ribbed leggings will always elicit a reaction that almost always consists of a squeal from a much higher octave, warm fuzzy feelings, and sheer disbelief that another tiny human will be joining our family. No matter how trying pregnancy can often feel, it never loses its many shades of magic. 

2. There is nothing like the prospect of a new baby to light a fire under the ass of one's Home Projects List. That fire is rather hot. We decided that it was a good time to paint the exterior of our home, completely gut the back yard, install all new interior doors, and (potentially) gut and re-do both bathrooms. I wouldn't recommend this level of crazy to a family growing another human because it's... stressful. And messy. However, the thought of fresh white bathroom tile, toilets that don't leak, and doors that don't run the risk of locking you inside of your toddler's bedroom while said toddler is not actually in the room with you is overshadowing any rational reasoning I may typically possess. 

3. As people have found out that I'm pregnant, I've gotten asked a surprising amount of times (by strangers) if this baby was planned. First off, whether or not Joe and I planned this pregnancy or if we are simply trusting a bigger picture for our family-- one that we may not even be able to wrap our head around at the moment-- is a moot point. Maybe we were tracking my ovulation and I was propping my feet up against a wall afterwards or maybe we simply got hammered one night and a condom felt like too much work in the moment. Secondly, when did it become acceptable to ask such probing questions about one's family planning? Since when did being intrusive cease being considered rude? Furthermore, why does one feel entitled to even ask a person whom they know so little about such very personal questions? Lastly, it isn't any of your fucking business. Learn some manners. 

4. Every pregnancy is different. I know this. I repeated this affirmation to myself while pregnant with Edie as to not place unnecessary expectations on her while she was in the womb. (I am a devoted advocate of respecting my children' individuality and, furthermore, believe that placing expectations on our children should be reserved for their teenage years, ya know?! That way it does the most damage.) The only problem is that my pregnancies with the girls were absolutely identical in terms of symptoms-- their intensity, frequency, and when they stopped-- and how my body handled pregnancy hormones and the extra estrogen. This, in turn, made it all too easy to make assumptions about how this pregnancy would truck along. I mean, how different could it possibly be?! I never should've assumed. Ever. I even knew better. And, as punishment, I'm now incubating a goddamned rogue agent. This baby gives zero fucks about how I've run this show the prior two times I've done it and its' relentless pursuit of proving the consequences of false assumption has been brutal. 

5. I'm fairly stoked about having a fall baby. The thought of hibernating in adult diapers and stretchy pants with five day hair post-birth versus being forced into a spandex torture device known as a bathing suit while I leak from places one should never leak from feels like a very kind gift courtesy of my ovaries and Joe's sperm. Thanks, y'all.