Four.  I wanted four kids.  FOUR, people. Clearly I was drinking too much crazy water back then.  My aforementioned stupid theory on child rearing (From my 20′s) goes as follows:

ONE – I knew for sure I didn’t want just one child because on the one hand only children have a tendency to be spoiled, childish and unable to relate to their peers (in my experience) and on the other hand I didn’t want to have just one child because should (god forbid) anything happen to said child I would be left childless and that would be awful.

TWO – Two just didn’t make any sense either because two is such a small number and what if (again, god forbid) something happened to one child and I was left with a now-only child?  See previous statement.

THREE – Three kids just wasn’t a valid option.  Middle child syndrome.  The end.

FOUR – This seemed to be the perfect number to me.  I avoid the only child complex, the middle child complex  and the fear of going from two to one.

FIVE – Yes, there was a time when I thought five kids was a great idea.  But  inside the theory I fall back into a middle-child category and also, FIVE IS WAY TOO FREAKING MANY KIDS.  I WOULD GO INSANE.

Well, now that I’m old (did I mention I turned 30 in April?) and now that I have two amazing kids, I know this for sure: My twenty year old self is a childless know-it-all fool.

It will never matter how many, or how few, children I have.  I will love them all with every fiber of my being in a way that no one else ever will.  There is no perfect number, no ability to really put a stop on how many you “want” because no matter how many kids I end up with, whether planned or “oops!” babies, I would want each and every one of them and love them no matter first or second or middle or last.  Because they are mine.  And mine are amazing.

Maybe it’s because Avelyn is growing into the most incredible little girl, or maybe it’s because my Noah is EIGHT MONTHS of bubbly baby perfection, or maybe it’s because there are 6 pregnant nurses on my unit but man, I am already wistful for the feeling of new life. 

I guess what I’m saying is that even though I am done having kids, I have the two most amazing children the world has ever seen… so that means if ever there were a third he or she would be mindblowing.  No?

I love my babies. LOVE. THEM. More than my own life or anyone else’s. I also know I struggle with myself regularly to be the mom I want to be. I know that to be that person, I am happy to call my family complete as it is right now. My Avelyn. My baby Noah. The two loves of my life. (Plus that other guy). I feel like once I gain a foothold on this whole I’m-a-parent-of-more-than-one-kid-now thing I will be able to provide each of them with enough of myself that we are all okay.

I just want them to grow up and KNOW they are loved. I want them to KNOW that I cannot fathom my life without them. I want them to someday know that I’m not sure I would have been able to breathe without either of them in my life.

I still can’t believe he is here or that I’m not pregnant anymore, something I’m thankful for and something that breaks my heart all at the same time because I know that two children will probably be it for us. Save for winning the lottery or someone coming out with a pill to make me psychologically capable of handling the emotional demands (or even just a failed birth control method in the future), I do not plan to have any more babies. It’s a bittersweet acceptance. But also a jumping off point for my future.

The pros to my childbearing coming to an end include getting in shape like I’ve been wanting to and not worrying about blowing up with pregnancy again. I can look forward to (mostly) always sleeping through the night (again) once Noah is out of babyhood! I’ll never have to feel like my vagina is being ripped apart with a serrated knife! We can all fit relatively comfortably in a four door car, a restaurant booth or a three bedroom house.

Of course there are cons to this decision to. I’ll never get to feel a tiny body moving inside my belly again or feel the earth shake as I pull another baby from my womb and lay him on my chest. I’ll never get to feel the warm heartbeat of new life or stare at the beautiful face I’ve created until my eyes could stay open no more. These things leave a little room for wonder. Not to mention the fact that stopping at two means I will be denying the world the awesomeness of our future children….

Although I am comfortable with the decision to not have any more kids (I really, really, REALLY do believe it’s best for us, best for ME), I have to put it out there that if we ever decided to add “just one more” in a few years, I would be absolutely, positively 1,000% over the moon to meet one more beautiful soul.

*I wrote this post when Noah was 14 days old. I was afraid it didn’t make sense at the time so I didn’t post it. It’s now 88 days after wrote it and I know exactly why it’s taken me 88 days to put it out there: a) the three year old next to me that for the love of god won’t stop talking AND OH HOW I MISS HEARING MY OWN THOUGHTS. OR SILENCE. and b) the three month old that is finally taking a nap in his crib for the FIRST time all by himself. What can I say? It never stops.

Thanks to my amazing powers of recollection, the technology of Facebook and text messaging , I have created a tiny record of my labor with Noah.  Without further adieu, February 18, 2011 went something like this:

8:00am – I wake up and think, is today the day?  Because I really don’t want to go to work.  If I’m going to have the baby today I’d kind of like to know so I don’t waste my last day working.  Well, I guess I feel okay so here we go, Day.  Bring it.

11:00am – I get to work, it’s super busy.  Everyone exclaims, “You’re here!  I can’t believe you’re still pregnant!” I’m assigned to triage (boo, hiss, hiss) but this might be a good thing. Maybe sitting down in triage will ease my (now) aching lower back.  I joke with the other nurses that I just need to make it to 7pm and finish my shift because I don’t want to waste any PTO before my maternity leave starts.  (Ha ha HA).

12:00pm – I start to notice my belly becoming hard every now and then.  Although I always have contractions at work, it’s a physically demanding and stressful job.  I’m used to it.  I have another nurse feel my stomach a few times.  She swears I’m in labor.  I am a stubborn nurse AT WORK IN A HOSPITAL and  continue to deny it.  Hey, I’ve got a job to do!  And stuff to do this weekend!

1:55pm – I finally start jotting down start times here and there in between patients to monitor if my contractions are regular.  My lower back still hurts.  This is a new symptom that started this morning.

2:30pm – Shift change is coming up, and it’s almost time for my 30 minute lunch break.  I agree to come back to triage after my break instead of changing assignments.  My back still hurts and I tell the charge nurse, half jokingly, “I think I might be in labor but I don’t know.  I should probably stay sitting down to see if these contractions go away.” A few of us feel around on my stomach again.  “Girl you’re in labor!” they say.  “No, I don’t think so,” I say.  (Ha ha ha HA).

3:05pm – Lunch time.  I make my way to the nurses station but don’t go to lunch.
“I’m afraid to go to lunch,” I say half smiling, half terrified, “I really think I might be in labor.”
“How far apart are they?!” they ask excitedly.
“About every 5 minutes.”
“For how long?!”
“I don’t know!  I don’t have time to pay attention to that, I’ve been triaging!  Probably at least two hours now.  And my doctor said if they were at least 5 minutes for more than two hours I should go to the hospital.”
“Oh my gosh!” they say, “You’re totally in labor.  You need to leave!”
“Yeah, I don’t know.  What if this isn’t it?”
(Ha ha ha HAAAAAA)

3:10pm – I walk around my hospital, notice a little more discomfort with the contractions, call Kevin and ask if I should go to the hospital.  “Um, I can’t really tell you since YOU’RE THE ONE WHO IS PREGNANT.”  Oh, right.  I go back to the unit and sit behind the nurses station.  My boss is down here now.  “You know if you leave now you’ll probably get stuck in traffic and have that baby in the car” he jokes, “so you might as well stick out your shift.”   “Yeah!” the nurses cry, “We’ve got three sterile vag basins and an empty trauma room.  We can deliver that baby right here!”

3:11pm – I DON’T THINK SO.

3:25pm – I tell the charge nurse that yeah, I think I need to leave.  I pack up my stuff and leave for the hospital.  They’ll probably send me home. (Ha ha ha ha HAAAAAA)

3:40pm – I start texting/FBing on my way out because I’ve got to have something to laugh about when they send me home and I left work for nothing, right?  (Also, I’m super nervous.  I was induced the first time, I have NO IDEA what real labor fees like and honestly I’m not hurting at all.)  I’m going to feel like a total tool in about one hour is all I keep thinking.

3:49pm – FB: “I’m leaving work and heading to another hosptial for… Baby?  Maybe?”

4:55pm – FB: “Being admitted. 4-5 cm, 90% effaced.  Really need to go to the BR.  Gross.  Dammit.  And my doc is OOT so delivering with Dr C, supposed hottie according to my sources.  Greeeeeat.”

6:00pm – Kevin and Avelyn finally arrive.  I have a sweet 20 minutes with my beautiful girl, my first born baby before she’s off to dinner and spend the night with the grandparents.  I really want her to stay.  I want her to be here for the birth.  I miss her so much when she’s gone.

6:30pm – 5cm.  Dr C breaks my water.  A big gush of really hot water with every contraction or when baby moves.  This is weird.

7:30pm – Contractions are finally starting to hurt.  Ow.  Now I remember what this is like.  Why did I think it would be cool to do this without drugs?  What is wrong with me?!  There is nothing cool about being in pain and I want to enjoy this birth because I’M DOING ALL THE WORK DAMMIT!

8:01pm – Txt: “Just got epidural. Broke bag at 1830.”  Blessed epidural, how I love thee.  Look how happy I am!  A baby is about to rip through my vagina again, yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!

8:42pm – FB: “I can’t feel my legs!  I can’t feel my legs!  Oh wait, there they are, buried beneath the wonderful effects of DRUGS.  7cm.  Going to take a nap now.”  (Of course the nap didn’t happen.  I’m on my phone a lot.  Who can sleep when you’re about to give birth!)

10:09pm – Txt: “9cm, +1 station.  Almost go time!”

10:36pm – Nurse says I’m complete and it’s time!  Had two practice pushes with my nurse and watched in the mirror as his head came all the way down.  Was instructed to stop pushing so we could have an actual doctor present to deliver my unborn child.  I’ve got drugs on board and I can’t feel or move the lower half of my body so you know, take your time.  It’s cool.

10:45ish – Everyone in place, doc asks which one of us (Kevin or myself) wants to deliver the baby.  Holy crap this is totally happening right now.

10:50pm – A few (maybe 4 or 5?) pushes and Dr C tells me to reach down, grab my baby and lay him on my chest.

10:53pm – I do.  Noah James is here.  And I’m in love.

See the whole set on flickr.

Baby #1
April 15, 2008  ::  36 weeks/6 days pregnant  ::  3cm/60% effaced  ::  Birthed 3 days later

Baby #2
February 9, 2011  ::  36 weeks/4 days pregnant  ::  3cm/70% effaced  ::  Birth imminent

(Or not, you know how these things work.)

She wants me to stop working 12 hour shifts and work 8′s, however we are having enough trouble balancing family life and childcare as it is and I don’t think working 4 or 5 days instead of 3 will be any easier on my body or our life. For now I plan to just try to sit when I can and hopefully get an easy assignment at work. IF it continues or gets worse then I will make changes.

Nothing is more important than this baby of course, but unfortunately we depend on my salary and I do not have enough vacation saved up to sit at home before the baby is born. Given that with Avelyn I only had about 3 weeks off and didn’t feel “recovered” for about three months, I would prefer to get a whole 6 weeks off after the baby comes and go back to work part time through the summer until Kevin comes back.

Yes, he IS going to Chicago again this year. Let’s not discuss that at this time.

On to brighter news, stay tuned for happier upcoming posts containing baby projects, Avelyn’s FIRST dance recital and a bunch of other things I haven’t shared because I haven’t really blogged in oh, a year. Hope you have a great weekend!

Today you are 34 weeks and a few days old, gestationally speaking.  34 weeks and a few days old, while technically an okay age to be born and probably have few issues, is not an acceptable age to make your appearance if it can at all be helped. Haven’t you heard that little white boys fare worst in the premature category?  You are both white and male, keep in mind.

Sure, I understand that I have given birth once before and therefore my body is softer, looser, more elastic than it was the first time.  I know this because of how easy I am able to urinate on myself at the drop of a hat.  I know this because my body is SUPER EXCITED to put on weight and has enjoyed gaining 5 pounds a month for a long time now.  AND I know this because for the past week or so walking, standing or moving in any direction that doesn’t involve staying completely still, hurts.  At this point I am pretty sure my pelvis has opened wide enough that an actual watermelon could fall out at any time and I would not be surprised.  In short, it hurts.

I don’t like it, like at all in case you care, but I get it and accept it.

However, while all of these issues are not surprises (I’m older) (my body is different), they are not excuses for you to make an early debut if that’s at all what you have in mind.  I’ve felt “weird” the last few days.  A little more sore, a little more tight, a little more uncomfortable.  Things I chalked up to working 36 hours a week and chasing your almost-three-year-old, nearly 40 pound, just under 40 inch sister around. You still move a lot though, something I both enjoy and wish you did with a little less gusto in the nether regions, so I’ve been okay with the changes.

Then today there was the garage door incident.  Our damn garage door and it’s overly sensitive motion detector that completely stops the door from closing from about 9:45am to almost 11am because the sun, THE FREAKIN’ SUN, shines on it.  You know, the exact time I leave for work and/or get around to leaving the house to run errands.  Sometimes I just lock the house door and leave the dang thing open (not without a lot of (unacceptable, DON’T CURSE) cursing) but today I took your dads advice and decided to pull the cord and manually close it since I was going to work.  He said it was easy.  It wasn’t.

I felt a twinge in my huge stomach when I pulled that stupid cord.  Being used to the lower pelvic soreness and Braxton Hicks contractions I ignored the twinge.  Then my upper abdomen started hurting.  On both sides, really bad.  I chalked it up to a muscle strain after the damn garage door tried to kill me.  And being a nurse, at work in the hospital mind you, I kept true to the stubborn nurse way and pretended nothing was wrong.

When it didn’t go away I did finally call the OB, because it was you I was worried about.  I could have blood spurting out my ears and there’s no way I’m taking off work but you’re a little more important.  The doctor agreed that yes, it does sound like it is probably just a strain but to be on the safe side she told me to go home, drink a lot of water, put my feet up and do nothing the rest of the day until my scheduled appointment tomorrow.  Right.  Because that’s so easy.

Of course to add to my misery as I was leaving, all my nurse buddies did their nursey thing and we had to check all those things we remembered from L&D.  Take your blood pressure! 145/96.  Great.  I’m pretty sure it’s just stress though.   Why don’t you weigh yourself to see if you’ve put on a huge amount of weight recently! 7 pounds in three weeks.  Great, but probably attributed to the fact I don’t watch what I eat anymore.  Pee on a stick! Trace protein.  Agh, whatev I’m going home.

Sigh.  So here we sit now, me, Avelyn and you, Baby Brudder Boy in my belly, scanning the internet and watching Olivia on DVR.  My ass already hurts and I’ve only been doing this for 2-1/2 hours.  This is boring.  This had better be something we don’t have to do after today.

So there’s my long story and with it my plea to you, Baby Brudder Boy.  STAY INSIDE.  Please.  We’ve got a few more weeks of growing planned for you.  Also we don’t have a name, anything done in your room and I can’t even find the Pack n’ Play you will sleep in when you come home.  So for real, take it easy and enjoy the end of this ride.

See you in a few,
Momma

Most times when I feel myself feeling too “whatever” I don’t act on it, I just walk away and steam or cry in the bathroom and feel really [insert emotion here].  Later I can look back and see that it was (usually) just my hormones, and I’m thankful I didn’t say or do anything crazy.

But sometimes I am just irritated that I can’t say what I want to say.  Not always mind you, because I come from a past filled with people that don’t filter, and say the first thing that comes to their mind which was usually cruel, hurtful and sometimes scarring.  I do not believe that’s a healthy way to live, and I don’t want to create that relationship inside my own family.

Sometimes, yes, you do need to say something to stand up for yourself or make a point.  But more often than not I think you should keep your mouth closed and take time to cool off until you can hold a rational conversation and be able to listen and absorb and recognize the other persons point of view and the fact that sometimes, they might in fact be right.  Which in turn means that yes, you might in fact be wrong.  It’s a novel concept for many people, I know.

All that to say 1) these pregnancy hormones are really getting to be annoying and 2) it should go without saying that due to the previous statement, my husband is driving me crazy.

He still only works two days a week but they are full days and he’s gone about 8am to 8pm so we don’t see him.  Now he’s involved in this pseudo-documentary thing that he works on every other day so, we don’t see him.

[Enter my hormonal rant today]

For one, we haven’t seen much of him in over a week and have spent almost zero time together since he’s started.  I’m trying to be supportive about it because at least it’s something film related and he doesn’t have much if any of that in between Chicago in the summers but, and a huge but here, but I don’t really care.

Second, it leaves me in a lurch with childcare.  We had planned to put Avelyn in a preschool program two or three days a week starting this month but decided there weren’t any programs available that fit our specific needs at this time.  We thought we found a great solution when a friend was free the two days a week I needed and were really excited about her watching Avelyn in the home without other kids to worry about but due to a scheduling conflict that fell through too.  Kevin’s parents have watched her when necessary but I don’t want that to be a permanent solution, for multiple reasons.  The broadest being I think grandparents deserve to treat grandchildren like grandchildren, and if they are responsible for keeping her on a regular basis then they really need to make an effort to stick to our rules and our schedules and do things our way, just like a regular babsitter would be expected to do.  That’s been an ongoing issue with them from the beginning.  It’s not a situation that is fair to me as a parent or to them as a grandparent either.  Also, I don’t feel like Kevin ever really hears me on this topic.  I always feel like he’s totally annoyed with me when we talk about it and I tell him I don’t want his parents watching her as often as they do.

Coming back to the documentary subject, I’m a little ashamed to say I just don’t care.  I don’t.  I’m being supportive in the best way I can be right now in my condition which basically means keeping my mouth closed and staying out of the discussion.

In case you didn’t know, I am pregnant.  Almost thirty four weeks pregnant to be exact and my body is kicking into nesting gear and preparing to give birth.  I am still working 36 hours a week and I’m tired.  When I’ve been gone for 14 hours a day I don’t want to come home to a dirty house and an excuse that he was gone all day too and was too tired or too busy still working on something to clean up when he got home.  Because as far as I can tell, he got home by 7 or 8pm, and it’s midnight when I get home.  I’m sure that somewhere in those 4 or 5 hours he could have found 30 minutes to pick up and straighten.  I know this is possible because somehow on my days off I always spend at least the first half hour after breakfast cleaning the mess from the days before.

I’m stressed about getting things done that need to be done before the baby comes.  I’m stressed because we still don’t technically have a name yet.  (We actually have a first name we both like but I just found out it’s a lot more popular than I thought it was and I HATE that.  Also we haven’t totally settled on the middle name.  There are two possible options in the works.  One sounds better than the other and is a family name but the second is a family name that means more to me.  What to do, what to do…)  I’m stressed about working up to giving birth because physically I just can’t do what I used to be able to do and I don’t want anyone at my job to think I’m slacking.  I’m stressed about spending enough quality time with Avelyn before the new baby comes; I just love our time together so much.  I’m stressed just thinking about him going away for the summer again because it will be so hard for me, in so many ways.  I’m stressed thinking about what will happen if I go crazy after having a baby.  I freaking hate having people help me with anything.  I’m STRESSED because I’m so irritated with Kevin all the time, and I remember how hard it was after Avelyn was born, for months. Heck, maybe years?  (While we’re on the subject, can I add that I’m stressed about opening up comments again, something I would really like to do?  I’ve received enough email comments from people being really supportive about closing them and now I miss hearing from you guys.  I am opening up comments on this one post.  We’ll see how it goes.  I doubt I will open them up for good again because I know the people who often annoyed me with their words will starting stressing me out again.  Ugggggh.  It really sucks when one or two people ruin it for everyone else. Namely me )

In short, I’m stressed.  I’m irritated.  I’m tired.  I’m worried.  But so much more than that, I’m really, really excited and happy about having this baby, and the fact I sometimes feel all those other things just makes me annoyed today.

What the heck, Life?  Can’t you throw me a bone?  Preferably in the form of a husband who can read minds and subtle cues and just do everything I want him to say and do without me having to say it?  Because that would be suh-weet.

T-minus 44 DAYS OR LESS to go. Holy. Cow.

Also, I am 99.4% certain there is someone, somewhere that has developed a machine that allows them to slow time for themselves allowing them to accomplish all their goals and I am 100% certain they are not sharing that machine with me.  How awesome would that be?

December recap:

• I worked a lot.
• The belly got bigger.  And it moves a lot now.  And it’s pretty painful from about 3pm on each and every day.
• I paid for all my Christmas with cash, a first (the freedom of debt free Christmas is NOT to be underrated).
• Avelyn and I made a few pretty cool Christmas crafts I may or may not get around to sharing here.
• Got home from work on Christmas Eve at 3:45am.
• Had a wonderful (albeit tired) Christmas morning watching Avelyn excitedly open her gifts.
• Started feeling bad Christmas afternoon.
• Woke up officially feeling sick the next day but pretended not to notice and enjoyed taking (and again, watching) Avelyn see The Nutcracker for the first time.
• Worked 44 hours the next week while simultaneously fighting the worst cold ever (again).

Now it’s January.  Of two thousand ELEVEN.  Which is only significant because I blinked and two thousand TEN flew by.  Also, in two thousand ELEVEN I will be having another baby.  Another baby y’all.  And may I just tell you that I am woefully unprepared.  Woooooefullly.

Just yesterday at work my friend was asking how far along I was and I had to reference the app on my phone that reminds me because no, I never remember how many weeks I am because a) this ain’t my first rodeo and b) if you’re also a mom of a fantabulous two year old you just know.  So my lovely iPhone app let me know that I am in fact 32 weeks along which means that in about TWO FLIPPIN’ MONTHS (or maybe even less, ohmygod) another baby will come flying out of my body and turn my world, again, upside down.

In a nutshell I randomly flip back and forth between running at warp speed through our everyday everydayness and having moments of sheer panic when I realize that I have done nothing, and I repeat without a hint of sarcasm, NOTHING TO PREPARE FOR THIS CHILD.  Of course we still have the infant carseat and the travel system stroller, the infant bathtub, bouncer, swing.  And if you like that my son be bathed and clothed entirely in pink and purple for his first two years then technically I have everything I need and can quit worrying about doing anything else.

But I’m a little particular when it comes to being that much of a frugal tight ass and have no plans to bathe or clothe my first and probably only son in pink and purple.  When I think about it, there’s not THAT much to do in the next 6 weeks (six weeks being my goal to get everything done since I can’t imagine I’ll be doing much of anything after giving birth, if my previous recovery experience repeats itself).

I mean really, all we have to do is:

1. Get that corner wall fixed in the spare room that had a leak a few months back and is now growing hair and shares a cold draft with the rest of the room.
2. Set up the new crib and convince Kevin to take down the queen bed that is taking up the whole rest of the room. (Which I must admit was my original idea since he will continue working and will need some sort of sleep.  However now I am more concerned with my nesting instincts that are telling me TAKE DOWN THE BED.  YOU WILL HATE WALKING INTO THAT ROOM WITH A GIGANTIC BED IN IT.)
3. Find an old dresser (preferably) and hope it’s chic enough to use as is or repaint it in a fantastic matching color.
4. MAKE A DECISION already about whether I really want to tackle sewing the crib bedding or just buy one online and hope I don’t hate it like I did Avelyn’s.
5. Recover the cushions for our squeaky old glider or buy a new rocker.
6. Buy more than the one, repeat ONE, piece of clothing we own for “baby brudder boy” which was only purchased courtesy of big sister Avelyn.
7. Go through the piles of old girl clothes and decide which ones to send to friends and which ones to keep.  This has been the hardest thing to tackle thus far.
8. Not go into labor anytime soon.
9. Not stress about all the crap I have to do and just take a few moments here and there to appreciate the three of us as we are, before we become four.
10. (No #10, 9 just felt like a weird ending.)

That is all.  I really want to find the time to write more here but considering how many times I’ve said that, and how each and every time I have failed, don’t expect too much.  Do you read Kickyboots?  Her post yesterday just about sums up the way I feel most days.  Between 12-14 hour work days three days a week and that 24/7 job called being a parent I guess feeling stretched too thin is par for the course.  I can’t complain though.  We are happy, HEALTHY, and living our own life.  It’s a good place to be.  I hope you are doing just as well.

Then I opened up another link and watched a video of some dear friends and their very new baby boy.  Both of these things made me beam with pride and my stomach swirl with excitement about my very own, very tiny, very loved baby still growing in my belly.

I do a lot of complaining these days about this situation going on in my body because pregnancy takes away all your control.  Your body is changing, everywhere, everyday and it’s a fast change.  It’s not like the first time, where I remember marveling at every turn, in awe with every kick, every flutter, every week I got bigger.  This time I am bigger than before, pretty sure I pee more, and am certain I am more tired.  Breathing is difficult, the all day dose of reflux is disgusting, my feet hurt all the time and I work in a job that constantly reminds me how precious this child’s life is. Add to that it’s Christmas time (my FAVORITE time of the year mind you) and the emotions and obligations and stress that come with it and blah, blah, blah, I don’t think I’ve been nearly as thankful or joyful as I should be.

So, here it’s going to change, I hope, because this is MY baby, and I’m falling in love with him more each day.  This is MY holiday, and I don’t have to buy/do/spend any extra time with anyone than is reasonably warranted given what I can handle on any given day.  My sanity and comfort level is more important than anything I’m “supposed” to do.

This is MY last pregnancy (that I know of… or think I want… and I’m 99.5% sure I do not need more than 2 children) so I want to remember to embrace all those things I couldn’t wait to feel again when I wanted to be pregnant.  The kicks are only mine for a few more weeks.  This boy will only be with me for another blink of the eye and then poof! he will be here and I will have to share him with the world.

I remember that little part of me that felt jealous and sad after Avelyn was born and someone else was holding her, like I had lost her and needed her in my arms thatverysecond for the world to be right again.  I know I will feel that again with this baby, so thinking of that makes me want to wrap my arms around myself and enjoy this time of  just us.  Too soon the world will try and stake it’s claim.  He will be, “my grandson”, “my nephew”, “my brother”, and even though he will be all of those things, he will always have been MY son just a little bit longer.

I still tell Avelyn, “Mommy will always love you more than anyone else in the whole world, always.  You grew in my body and I got to know you eight months more than anyone else.”  I want this baby to know that too.  I will always, always, always love him more than anyone else, because he grew in me.  And I’ve loved him from the very beginning.