38 weeks, 6 days (and the labor story)

It was a hot, humid Friday afternoon and I had left work a couple hours early to meet Chris and go shopping for Tater’s birthday present. (His birthday was still two days away, who’s procrastinating?!) We had spent about an hour at Dick’s Sporting Goods picking out Tater’s first .22 rifle (don’t even think about posting any pro or anti gun stuff here, folks, that’s not what this post is for), then had dinner at Cracker Barrel and we were finishing up grocery shopping at Walmart when I felt a sudden gush of fluid. Down there. My thought process was a bit like this: “Huh. That was odd. Was that my water breaking? No, it wasn’t that much fluid. Wait, it just happened again. And again. Aaaaand again.” I waddled quickly to the bathroom and found the front of my shorts soaked so I hid out until I was sure Chris had nearly finished checking out and then I pulled my shirt down as far as it would go and hurriedly met up with Chris and hauled ass to the car. All the while, I’m waiting for that first post-water-breaking contraction. Anyone who has ever had a baby knows what I’m talking about. But nothing happened. No contractions, no more fluid.

When we got home I called the OB floor at the hospital and they told me to come in so they could assess me. I didn’t go. Call me stubborn but I wasn’t convinced that my water had broken and I didn’t want to be that girl who went to the hospital only to get sent home. So we settled into bed somewhat apprehensively. Around 10:30 I started having contractions, very mild inconsistent contractions, and eventually I fell asleep. At 1:30 I woke up to contractions that were a little more intense though not unmanageable and they started coming regularly….first every 7-8 minutes and eventually every 5 minutes. Every 5 minutes for an hour. That’s what the doctor and the childbirth class told us. Come to the hospital when your contractions are 5 minutes apart for an hour. So I woke Chris up and we packed our bags, rustled Tater out of bed and drove to my brother & sister-in-law’s house to drop him off.

When we got to the hospital we had to check in through the ER where they asked me ridiculous questions like are you having contractions currently (hold on, let me breathe through this one and I’ll answer you) and when was your last period (um, seriously? At least nine months ago!). Finally, they got me up to the OB floor where I was hooked up to the monitor and checked for amniotic fluid. The test was negative, my water had not broken in Walmart. I was SO GLAD that my labor story would not have to begin “My water broke at The Walmart….” When the nurse checked me an hour later, I was still only dilated 2.5 centimeters (the same as my last doctor’s appointment five days earlier) and she declared “You aren’t in labor. Go home and come back when you can’t talk or walk through your contractions.”

I was confused. I felt like I was in labor. The contractions weren’t unbearable but they were regular and they did seem to be getting more intense. I BELIEVED I was in labor. At this point, retrospectively, I should have insisted on another hour of monitoring because as I got dressed and we packed up, I knew we were doing the wrong thing. I knew, in that deep down place where mothers just KNOW THINGS, that I was going to be giving birth soon. But I didn’t say anything.

I should have said something.

Thirty minutes later as we pulled into our driveway, I had a contraction that was much different than all the other ones. It was painful, unbearable even. Two minutes later before we had even reached our house I had another one. I stumbled into the house and laid in bed for about 20 minutes having these unbearable contractions every two minutes for 20 minutes before telling Chris we had to go back. RIGHT. NOW.

I don’t recall most of the drive back to the hospital, just that every two minutes a wave of intense pain would wash over me and I would be flooded with the feeling that my body was being ripped in half. I was drenched in sweat and I feared that any minute I would have to put my feet up on the dashboard and deliver my baby on Highway 49. I couldn’t get myself out of the car when we got to the hospital (again at the ER) and as the security guard wheeled me in, the 12-year-old ER clerk incredulously questioned “I thought y’all were upstairs?!” THEY SENT US HOME, I practically spit at him. Again, with the same stupid questions and registration process and then I was quickly wheeled upstairs. My nurse (a different one from the one who sent us home as shift had changed) checked me and told me she thought I was still at 2.5 centimeters. I told her to call the OR then because there was NO FREAKIN WAY I was doing this for another 7.5 centimeters. NO WAY. She said she would get another nurse to check behind her and when that nurse checked me, she looked at Nurse #1 (we’ll call her DingbatNurse from now on) and said, “She’s dilated to SEVEN. Page Marisol (my doctor) NOW.”

I immediately asked for pain medication and was told I would have to wait for the IV to put in. DingbatNurse was attempting an IV on my hand asking me to “hold still” (HAAAAA! YOU HOLD STILL YOU IDIOT! You don’t even know the difference between 2.5 centimeters and 7 centimeters!). After she finally got the IV in and cleaned up the gallons of my blood on the floor from the IV site, she started handing me paperwork. SERIOUSLY. I signed a couple of the forms and then she handed me one that needed things like social security numbers and addresses. I chucked that clipboard over the siderail of my bed and said NO MORE PAPERWORK AND WHERE ARE MY PAIN MEDS?!? Oh and by the way, my water just broke for real this time, or else I just peed all over myself (yes, those were my exact words).

My doctor arrived a few minutes later and the nurse checked me again. I was dilated to 10 centimeters and my cervix just had a small lip on it that needed to soften and then it would be time to push. Okay good. Just in time to give me an epidural, right? Some Demerol at least? My sister-in-law highly recommended Stadol and while I had no idea what Stadol was it sounded good to me. At that point, I was ready for them to just KNOCK ME THE FUCK OUT. Then my doctor said the most hateful, horrible thing I had ever heard in my life: “There’s no time for pain meds, honey. If we give you anything now your baby will be born not breathing. I’m sorry but you’re doing this naturally.” Even her thick Brazilian accent, which I had always found soothing, couldn’t soften that blow. No pain meds. Doing this naturally. No. No. NOOOOOO. You must have mistaken me for someone else, I can’t “do this naturally”, I want the drugs, I NEED the drugs.

I can’t do this.

I kept repeating that hoping that someone would hear me, believe me, take pity on my and go find a hammer and give me one swift hit relieving me from this absolute misery. I can’t do this. The nurse looked at me and said, “But you are doing it. You are. We’re going to have a baby.” As quickly as my labor had gone, the pushing phase seemed to drag on FOR FUCKING EVER. I pushed and pushed and pushed. Then I pushed some more. I wouldn’t stop pushing with my face and Chris had to remind me every time I started not to do that. I changed positions and pushed some more. I was exhausted and the pain was indescribable and I wanted to give up. I TRIED to give up. Multiple times. Chris would stroke my face (that I wasn’t supposed to be pushing with) and tell me “You got this, baby. You got this.” And my doctor would remind me that this is what I wanted (to deliver vaginally this time) and it wasn’t supposed to be easy. When she asked if I wanted to try the vacuum extractor I was hesitant so she suggested a few more pushes instead. After a few more pushes, I looked at Chris and told him I was tired and I couldn’t do it anymore. He said “Let’s do the vacuum” and so we did.

I pushed one more time while the doctor used the vacuum extractor and for the first time this whole excruciating morning, my brain checked out. I know from extensive research that crowning and delivering the head is the most painful part but I didn’t even really feel it. At least not the pain. There was some burning and some pressure and I know I was looking directly at my “area” but I can’t remember seeing her come out. I felt the contour of her perfect, cone-shaped head. I felt the width of her shoulders followed by the narrowness of her belly and her legs. I felt every inch of her coming out of me but it didn’t exactly hurt. I think at that point my brain had had enough and decided nope, not gonna do this. It was like a switch was flipped and my body was still there but my mind, where all the pain was, left the room.

And then she was here. She. Was. Here.

She wasn’t crying (I asked why and my doctor shook the bulb syringe at me and told me she was busy and to let her work!) and my brain returned just in time for me to watch Chris cut her cord through his tears. She started to whimper a little bit and then my whole world wrapped up in one tiny, slimy body was placed on my chest. I wrapped my arms around that baby, that life I just pushed into the world, and I thanked her. I thanked her for coming out of me (finally!). I thanked her for being mine. I thanked her for being the truly amazing dream come true that she is.

Then my whole world peed on me.

I did it. I had a vaginal delivery after a previous Cesaerean. Without pain medication. And now we had a daughter. Molly Grace Johnson, the angel that I had dreamed of for so many months, was in my arms and she was more beautiful than anything I ever imagined. She was worth every single minute of the pain. She was worth all the pushing, all the popped blood vessels in my eyes and face from pushing the wrong way, all the stitiches.

She was absolutely worth it all.

32 weeks

Pregnancy turns you into a mathematician. I’m currently 32 weeks pregnant, which translates to eight months. But I have 8 weeks to go, which is two more months, which means pregnancy is TEN MONTHS long. I am a third of the way through my third trimester. Weeks-wise, I have two months to go but months-wise I have one month and 26 days left. Blah, blah-BLIBBITY-BLAH.

Not one single word of that matters because the reality is that my due date is just that, a date. It’s not even a goal, just an arbitrary date to mark on the calendar and tell people when they ask “How much longer?” Because answering THE REST OF ETERNITY would likely elicit faux-sympathetic head-tilting and some variation of: “Oh you poor thing. But seriously, how much longer?” As long as she FREAKIN WANTS, how about that?!

Safe to say I’ve entered the “I’m so done with this pregnancy” stage. Soon to be followed by the “GET THIS BABY OUT OF ME” stage. What are the symptoms of this stage, you ask? Why, thank you for your interest! Let’s see:

• I hurt everywhere, all the time
• My cankles have a life of their own
• Sleep is intermittent at best even though I am tired ALL THE TIME
• Air gives me heartburn
• I can’t read Molly a book without getting breathless
• Even the clothes designed to fit me… don’t
• Getting dressed is a HUGE chore anyways
• I literally have to ROLL out of bed which I do 15 times each night to pee
• As soon as I pee, I have to pee again
• I waddle. On cankles, in case you missed that part earlier
• Complete strangers want to rub my stomach and seem to think it’s so funny to ask if I’m sure it’s not twins or tell me I look like I’m about to pop. Guess what? I am NOT AMUSED.
• My 11 year old likes to poke me in my belly button, which just feels weird now that it’s an “outie”
• I am always hot and sticky. Let me tell you how much the humidity in Georgia helps with THAT.

Sigh. I suppose I’d be remiss if I didn’t at least mention the one symptom that is pregnancy’s saving grace.

The unequivocal, deeply primal, all-consuming LOVE.

The more Molly moves and responds to my poking or singing (horrible, horrible singing even!) or dancing, the more I get to know her as a separate person. She’s no longer just an extension of me; she’s her own human being with her own personality. She likes slow music and her daddy’s voice and the cat’s purr when she lies on my tummy. She throws parties in my uterus every morning from 3:00 a.m. – 5:00 a.m., invites all her friends over for dancing and gymnastics, and I’m pretty sure there’s some underage drinking going on.

She’s my daughter and I can’t even put into words our excitement about meeting her. But even after all the complaints and discomforts, she’s welcome to stay as long as she likes. And I’ll keep up the horrible singing and waddling and swelling and peeing as long as she keeps growing and thriving. For however many more weeks or months longer. Because that’s the deal I made when we conceived a life. Because that’s what parents do for their kids from the very beginning.

Because, LOVE.

30 weeks

Dear Molly,

After you’re born I plan to write some type of regular letter to you detailing the cute (and not-so-cute) things you’ve been doing and what’s going on in our lives. Those letters will hopefully serve as mile markers for you when you get old enough to read them. Due to Mommy’s propensity for, shall we say, language that’s a bit inappropriate, you may be 25 years old before you can read them. But today I wanted to kick off these letters with some advice for you. These are just a few things I’ve learned and tidbits I’ve picked up along the way. Hopefully by the time you are old enough to read this you will have realized that I am not completely full of shit (maybe somewhat, but not completely).

• I will be the best friend you’ll ever have. You just won’t know it until much later in life.
• Don’t believe it when someone tells you that a boy is only mean to you because he likes you. Meanness is never okay and ESPECIALLY NOT OKAY from someone who supposedly cares about you. You do not ever have to tolerate being treated poorly. If a boy who likes you only knows how to express that by being mean…RUN. Far and fast.
• Tip generously. If you can’t afford a tip, then you can’t afford the service.
• A person who is nice to you but rude to the waiter is not a nice person.
• Call your mom and your grandma. A LOT. You’ll wish you had when you no longer can.
• Don’t use the handicapped stall in the bathroom unless it’s absolutely necessary. If a handicapped person should need that stall, you don’t want to be the reason she can’t get to it.
• Don’t EVER EVER EVER use the handicapped parking space. EVER.
• If you’re at a luncheon and the dessert is already on the table when you sit down, eat it first because life is short.
• As much as possible, don’t mix your work & personal lives. Don’t date your coworkers or bosses or employees. It’s…messy.
• Letting someone believe something is true when it’s not, is just as much of a lie as a lie is.
• Don’t hold grudges. But don’t let people hurt you continuously. When you’ve had enough, walk away and stay away. Forgiveness is something you do for you not them.
• “No” is a complete sentence. Use it when you mean it and don’t explain.
• If you want something, ask for it. Don’t expect anyone to be able to read your mind.
• Take good care of your teeth. Brush and floss, every day.
• Always wear underwear with pantyhose. Trust me.
• Search for opportunities to learn HOW to think instead of WHAT to think. Listen to every side but make up your own mind.

I also wanted to take this opportunity to tell you how utterly excited we are to meet you. Your brother and daddy and I are practically buzzing with anticipation as your due date gets closer and closer. We talk about what we think you will look like and the things we can’t wait to do – see your face, touch your skin, hear your voice, rub your back. You are already so much a part of this family and it’s so amazing to me that we never even knew you were missing from our lives until you suddenly weren’t anymore. Thank you for all the joy you have given us, and will continue to give us.

We love you Molly Grace.

Seventeen weeks, three days

We are having a girl. A daughter. I’m going to have a daughter. I’m going to be a mommy again, to a girl. A DAUGHTER, PEOPLE!

Yesterday my pregnancy hit me like a ton of bricks. Wonderful, life changing bricks. Bricks of a new foundation, our new beginning. Laying there on that table listening to the tech tell me, “It’s a girl!” was like a dream. Because it was incredible, sure, but also completely surreal. Wait a second. It’s a girl? For real? Like, not for fakes? Is this my dream coming true right here on this table….slightly uncomfortable, cold lube and a probing instrument all over my belly? This is what it feels like when dreams come true? THIS IS WHAT IT FEELS LIKE WHEN DREAMS COME TRUE! Let me tell you something, it is better than any high you can possibly imagine! That’s my baby girl in there!!!

Chris was equally (well, close enough) excited when I called him to give him the news. He wasn’t there because I wasn’t supposed to have an ultrasound at this appointment. It was just supposed to be a simple checkup – peeing in a cup, bloodwork, etc – but that blood test that I’ve already taken twice…yeah, the results STILL were not back. My doctor recognized the pure rage in my eyes when she told me “a few more days” (AGAIN!) and asked if I could stick around for a few minutes so they could squeeze in an ultrasound. Why, yes, I absolutely CAN stick around! Afterwards, I called Chris before I had even gotten back up to the waiting room and we cried tears of joy together. Our dream came true.

It wasn’t until I reached my car that it happened. The bricks….these miraculous, amazing bricks….THEY GOT HEAVY. It was a slowly increasing weight at first and then it was all at once too much to carry. No matter how many people I called or sent texts to, the bricks kept getting heavier. The weight gripped my chest and wouldn’t let go. There was a vice grip around my heart and I knew that all-too-familiar pain in an instant.

I needed to talk to my mom.

For just a few agonizing moments I collapsed under the weight of the bricks and I let myself get sucked into the interminable hole in my heart that is shaped like my mother. The hole that no one else, and no amount of time, can possibly fill. This is what it feels like when dreams come true, and you can’t share them with your mom.

Okay, here’s some truth. I haven’t told anyone except Chris this but the whole time I’ve been hoping for a girl and thinking pink and all that jazz…..well, secretly in the darkest corners of my mind I’ve known that having another boy would actually be easier on my soul. My mom was alive when I had a boy. She was with me the entire time, throughout my pregnancy and on speaker phone in the delivery room joining the chorus of “PUSH!”. She “held” my son and kissed him and loved him and was responsible for the nickname, Tater. This time, though, she won’t be here. She won’t get to know her grandaughter. She won’t get to tell me that my daughter looks just like me when I was a baby or that she has my hungry cry or smile or nose crinkle. And more than that, I won’t get to tell my mom that I finally understand, from experience, the depth and breadth of her love for me.

Eventually I was able to shake off that pain and put it back in its box in the corner of my mind. I am THRILLED to be having a girl and for the absolute privilege of the incomparable mother-daughter bond. But it is not without some sorrow and some weight; the pure joy tipped ever so slightly by the missing piece, my mother’s absence. I plan to teach my daughter all the things my mother taught me – to live and love and laugh the way she did. I will tell her endless stories about her Nonnie’s life, reading from blogs my mom wrote and reciting quotes and quips of hers that I have burned into my memory. And I can only hope to one day look into my daughter’s eyes and see my mother’s strong and gentle spirit looking back at me.

Not nearly enough weeks

Here it is, folks! The inevitable pissing and moaning about pregnancy post. First, let me get a few things out of the way. Yes, I know I willingly did this to myself (with a little help, CHRIS!). Yes, I am well aware that this will all be “worth it” in the end. The first time I hold my baby I will not give two shits about any of the crap I post about today. Yes, I know it’s temporary. I know all of this. So save it, please. Because I’m grumpy. No, grumpy is not a good enough word. I’m bitchy. I’ve been in constant pain for FIVE DAYS STRAIGHT and I don’t want to play anymore! I’m not soliciting your sympathy, I promise. This is just an outlet for me.

Alright, all you women out there trying to conceive, listen up: PREGNANCY SUCKS BIG TIME! It’s not magical, there is no “glow” (as Phoebe said, “That’s sweat. You throw up all morning, you’ll have that ‘glow’ too!”), it is NOT the best time of your life. It fucking sucks, and not just in the first trimester either. I spent the better part of 12 weeks puking on an almost daily basis and the only time I didn’t feel nauseous was when I was eating or sleeping. And oh, the sleeping. It would be glorious…all that magnificent sleeping in the first trimester because you are literally the tiredest you have EVER been (making a person is hard work, yo!).

However.

You can’t sleep because you have to empty your bladder, oh, every two fucking seconds. Someone asked me if the peeing is worse than when you are drinking and you “break the seal”. Oh, yes. Yes it is worse and here’s why: you aren’t drunk, or even buzzed, so all that peeing doesn’t come with any giggling. You can’t get any of your girlfriends to go to the bathroom with you every two seconds and talk about the hot guys across the bar. And worst of all, after breaking the seal you pee multiple times and the volume is insane. When you’re pregnant you’re lucky to eek out a drop or two even though it feels as though you may burst. There’s no sense of relief, however brief.

Now we’re caught up to the second trimester, the “honeymoon” they say. HAAAAHAHAHAAA-FUCKING-HA! Okay I’m not puking every day or even feeling sick to my stomach anymore. I can stay pretty functional until about 8:00 p.m., sometimes 9:00 p.m. if I slept in that morning. But there are new symptoms and boy are they just as fun! The headache is first and foremost. It’s unrelenting. It’s always there, even when it’s not pounding (which isn’t often) and any sudden movement, bending, laughing, crying, yelling….makes it ten times worse. I have a newfound respect for people who have chronic pain conditions, and I’m not comparing pregnancy to those conditions whatsoever. But, being in constant pain changes who you are. I hate everything and everyone. Hate, hate, hate. I’m pissed off for no good reason (or maybe a very good reason) and I just want to crawl in a hole. Here is a list of what I have tried to get some relief: EVERYTHING. Tylenol, eating (more protein!), hydration, cold compress, warm compress, exercise, sex, relaxation, massage, more Tylenol (the most WORTHLESS ASS PAIN RELIEVER EVER!), sleep, dark, yoga, breathing, and a partridge in a pear tree! If you have any recommendations (beyond what I’ve just listed, read it again if you forgot), PLEASE SHARE. Yes, I called my doctor’s office and the nurse told me to try all the things I just listed AFTER I told her I already had tried them and then said “Sorry, there isn’t anything else we can do to help you right now.” I HATE HER THE MOST (she’s also the one who makes me get on the scale at every appointment so I only barely tolerated her before today)!

In addition to the headache, there’s the ever-expanding waistline and appetite, along with an enhanced lactose intolerance which is only balanced by the worst constipation I’ve ever experienced. THESE ARE MAGICAL TIMES PEOPLE.

Now let’s talk a little bit about this being a second pregnancy. All I heard when I was trying to conceive, and since then is “You know every pregnancy is different” and all I could think was, well I freaking hope so! My first pregnancy SUCKED. And lo and behold, guess what? This pregnancy has not been ONE BIT DIFFERENT. Not at all. Even the dates are nearly identical. If the similarities continue, I can expect a kidney infection next month which will hospitalize me, followed by three months of progressive swelling from head to toe. By month nine, there will be no difference in the circumference of my thighs and my calves. Then I’ll spend six hours in labor, two hours pushing, and end up having a c-section, which is like running a marathon and then finding out I could’ve used a golf cart! REALLY looking forward to THAT!

I know you’re probably tired of listening to me whine, and really that’s all I’m doing. I’d start to wrap this up and get to the point but I really don’t have one other than I’d give anything to fast forward the next five months. Wait. No. In a few weeks, I’ll start to feel the baby move and that’s damn near as good as holding little Cinnamon Moonpie for the first time. Until then, I’ll probably just keep bitching (you’ve been warned, so now’s the chance to remove yourself from automatic update notifications!).

Thirteen weeks

Screenings for genetic abnormalities today. Because of my “advanced maternal age” (I know, I know, ADVAN-MA-WHAT-NOW?!), I get to have all sorts of special tests throughout this pregnancy. It doesn’t bother me much and getting to know the gender early helps tremendously with the aggravation of the additional pokes and prods. I asked three separate people today when the results of the blood test would be in and they assured me that if something was wrong, the office would call me right away. That’s very nice of y’all but look, I want to know the baby’s gender! I was assured that “someone” would call me but then the lab tech told me that I could call the office myself to ask for the results if I wanted to. I wonder if this afternoon gives them enough time to process the results? No? Well, don’t be surprised if you call or text me 7-10 days from now and I don’t answer or respond because chances are I’M ON HOLD WITH MY DOCTOR’S OFFICE.

 

The ultrasound showed no indication of abnormalities and the baby was facing my back. The tech pushed and pushed and finally got the baby to flip over several times resulting in about five different poses for the ultrasound pictures. I absolutely cannot wait to feel those little flips for the first time and for Chris and Tater to feel the first kicks. I’ve had two solid days with no morning sickness whatsoever which is very exciting to me, although I think I traded nausea for headaches. I hate headaches but no migraines thus far and the pain is manageable if I can lay in the dark and close my eyes. I’m gonna need a designated nap room at work, I think.

Now for the saddest report of my entire pregnancy. Last weekend, we stopped at Wendy’s for lunch and I ordered a Son of a Baconator (yeah, that’s the actual name). If you have never had one of these, stop what you are doing and GO RIGHT NOW to your nearest Wendy’s. Order the combo (go for the full Baconator if you want to torture yourself) with fries and dip those bad boys in a Frosty too. Baconators may just be the best fast-food burger out there. Yeah, I said it. Come at me, Whopper and Big Mac! Anyways, two bites in and I had to put the burger down and REMOVE THE BACON before I could finish it. I couldn’t stand the taste of the bacon. Bacon. I had to take the bacon off.the.burger. I decided right then that upon birth, Cinnamon Moonpie is grounded for a month with no electronics.

Ten weeks

(December 14, 2015)

Today I mailed the Christmas cards that will announce our pregnancy to most of our family and friends. I hope none of you felt slighted by receiving the news in a card. If so, blame Pinterest! It makes me want to be all crafty and shit. For those who didn’t get a card and found out via Facebook, I’m sorry but stamps are expensive and I have diapers to buy! 🙂

The last few days have me hopeful that I’m on the downhill stretch of the first trimester. Not gonna lie, the past six weeks have been ROUGH. Morning sickness all day and extreme exhaustion were the best parts. Yes, the best. The worst parts, I won’t discuss here because frankly I just don’t know some of you well enough to have those discussions. But for the last four or five days, I’ve been feeling….better. I still have morning sickness but it comes and goes and the fatigue is manageable until about 8:00 p.m. I haven’t had too many food aversions although the venison back strap I slow roasted last night nearly came back up after the first bite. I can’t stand the smell or taste of Butterfingers, which sucks because I loved Butterfingers. Something about the crispity crunchety peanut buttery….no, just no.

There were times though over the last six weeks where I thought to myself oh what the hell have I done? So I am grateful for this, undoubtedly, short reprieve in miserable pregnancy symptoms. Right now I’m just dealing with being in the “fat” stage. Yes, I am aware that I was not skinny before I got pregnant. I had put on a good bit of weight over the last two years…happy weight, I call it. And I guess if I’m being completely honest (and I’m gonna because WOOOHOOO!), I haven’t actually gained any weight since I got pregnant – yet. But things are…shifting. Protruding, if you will. And not yet in the cute “baby bump” kind of way. My favorite jeans won’t button and any article of clothing made of that stretchy/fitted stuff just makes me feel like a busted can of biscuits. I look like I’ve been indulging in a fourth meal every day. Or getting a beer belly.

I’m definitely ready for the cute baby bump stage, and the roomy, comfy maternity clothes that go with it! I wonder if I could convince my boss that yoga pants are the new business casual?!

Eight weeks

(December 3, 2015)

Blogging from the beginning is something I really wish I had done with Tater and until recently – well, now actually – I didn’t think I would get the chance to do again. I didn’t think I would want the chance to do it again. But, here I am. Barefoot and pregnant….well, technically I have shoes on but I am pregnant and unmarried. Only this time it was by choice and not chance. This time it was planned. After three months of trying, I took a pregnancy test the day after I missed my period and it was negative. I was crushed but thought hey, it’s only been three months, we’ll just keep trying. When I still didn’t get my period the next day, I knew (I KNEW!) that test had been wrong. I waited a few days and took another test – it was positive (I was right, like always, yeah I said it). I woke Chris up at 5:30 a.m. to tell him he was going to be a daddy and I’ll never forget his smile and how tight he hugged me.

We told Tater that night and I was apprehensive. He knew we wanted to have another baby and he constantly argued that he did not WANT a sibling, no. He wanted to be an only child so he wouldn’t have to share me or Chris or presents or attention. So I was nervous at how he would react. Well, he forgot all about how much he wanted to remain an only child the instant I told him he was going to be a big brother. His eyes filled with tears (HAPPY TEARS!) and he exclaimed, “You’re pregnant?!” and ran to hug me and touch my belly. He jumped and squealed like a kid on Christmas and I cried too. He has not since spoken about wanting to remain an only child or not wanting to share his parents – he is overjoyed. We made a $10 bet on the spot about the baby’s gender and I’ll give you three guesses as to what he’s hoping for.

It has been an incredible thing to be so blissfully happy about this pregnancy. I’m not terrified like I was with Tater. Let me go ahead and say this up front: Tater is the best thing that ever happened to me. Absolutely, positively the single most amazing joy in my life. He’s my first baby, my son, and there will always be a part of my heart that belongs only to him. So when I talk about my pregnancy with him and the sheer terror (among other ridiculously painful events that occurred in those 40 weeks), please do not misconstrue that as regret because I wouldn’t change a thing about him. But it was different. I was terrified when I found out I was pregnant with Tater. It was unplanned, I didn’t want a baby, I was nervous and anxious the entire pregnancy. I marvel every day at how much better it is to do it this way. Even though I do have to tell people all the time that we planned this and I imagine that’s because we aren’t married. But hey, guess what? WE PLANNED THIS. And we couldn’t be happier!