Today is Friday, September… err… let me check my iPhone…
September October 3 (holy crap, it’s October!). I am… twenty… something weeks pregnant.
Oh, the glow of pregnant ladies. “Never so beautiful!” Yeah, right. Maybe for a first time mama. I am a soon-to-be fourth time mama, and the only thing illuminating from me is the snot permanently stained on my shoulder.
I haven’t slept in years. I can’t see my feet. I brush my hair maybe once a week. I rotate my wardrobe between sweatpants, my husband’s sweatshirt, and one pair of maternity jeans (for church, of course). I laugh. I cry. I yell. I’m claustrophobic. I can’t remember… anything.
I am officially a MAD pregnant lady.
I do know this is my fourth baby. I do know he’s a boy. I do know he is due on New Year’s. But I forget he’s there, err, here, in my belly. Well, that is until I finally sit down for the night after putting his three older siblings to bed and he kicks me so hard I have to pee. Therefore forcing me to use all my leftover energy to get my tush out of the couch and head to the bathroom.
My BFF is pregnant with her first baby. We are finally pregnant together – isn’t that awesome?! However, every time we talk, my BFF can tell me how big her baby is and what he is developing this week (eyelashes, fingernails, hearing, oh my!). She has already decided on her birthing plan, scheduled her visitors post baby, and picked out every nook and cranny of her baby’s nursery.
Me? I don’t even know where this baby is going to sleep. His crib is currently occupied by his still baby big sister. I do know they will have to share a room – a boy and a girl. I hope he likes Minnie Mouse and baby dolls….
I also can’t find that pregnancy bag the nurse gave me on my first appointment. You know, the one with all the samples, forms, instructions, etc. Yep, never even opened it. Think that’s a bad sign? Maybe my husband and I should figure out our birthing plan….
And visitors? People just aren’t as excited the fourth time around. Maybe a house with FOUR screaming children isn’t very inviting…?
I don’t blame by BFF. I was there. With my first baby I started taking belly pictures at about week eight when the only thing that was slightly growing was my chest. This time, I’ve taken one. The reason I took that ONE picture was because a friend texted me, “I NEED A BELLY PICTURE!” Oh, crap, I thought. So do I.
Oh, Diary, I am such a bad mommy. This poor, poor baby. I hope I remember to take his picture. My mom bought me a family photo session for my anniversary with the threat, “Your daughter needs pictures of herself before that baby comes.” Oh, crap, I thought. She’s totally right. But now, my little girl is covered in mosquito bites and pictures are Monday….
To top it off, today I have to chug this.
This nasty, thick, non-soda-like “drink.” Please, please tell me this is the last time I ever have to gag this junk down. I’ve had the clear and the orange (both of which I’ve thrown up), and I am currently staring down this new flavor, red (I don’t care what they tell me, it won’t taste like fruit punch!). Maybe it will like me better. Maybe it will be nice. Maybe this baby won’t force it back out of me, making me have to drink it again. Here goes nothing….
Diary, please, don’t let this baby know I keep forgetting he is in my belly. Please tell me he will never know I didn’t journal my cravings, document his heart rate, or photograph his growing baby bump each week. Please tell me this baby won’t be permanently scarred because of the lack of his picture framed on the wall, or in his baby book… if I buy him a baby book….
I will certainly not forget about him when he’s here. I’ll love him, and snuggle him, and never, ever let him grow up. He is, after all, my last excuse to be a crazy person!
I’ll have to remember to ask the doctor today how many weeks I am. But I’ll probably forget….