So it turns out that not all pregnancies are created equal. When I was pregnant with Anna, I loved it. Well, I think I loved it...Mommy amnesia is some whacked-out crack and I'm quickly realizing that my memories of pregnancy (and probably of labor) might not be entirely accurate.
Thus the radio silence for the last few months. I've tried to keep this blog fairly positive and this pregnancy has not had me feeling all that cheerful or witty. Horrible insomnia and back/hip pain have pretty much had me feeling like an emotional monster since October, and who wants to read posts from a grouch?
The good news is, pregnancy is not forever and as of today, I only have 83 days left (unless Jr. wants to show up early, which I am TOTALLY fine with! Hear that, Rutabaga?)
Anyway, we're chugging along. Anna is very excited for her baby brother to get here. I hope this excitement carries her through the attention shift that is coming down the pike. I'm trying to prepare her by talking a lot about what the baby will need/do when he gets here, but I'm not sure you can really prepare a kid for something like that.
She loves to talk to the baby - her favorite thing to do is poke my belly, get right up by my bellybutton and say "hey, baby, BOO!" Just enough to get him riled up and kicking my bladder. Then she scampers off on her merry way while I fend off internal ninja blows to my delicate organs. Fun!
As soon as she understood that there was a baby growing in my tummy, she began telling me (and anyone who'd listen) that she was growing twin puppies in HER tummy. Because who wants to go through pregnancy alone?! So around Christmas, I braved the obvious risk involved and asked her, just how did she plan on getting those puppies out of her tummy. She looked genuinely concerned for a minute until the perfect plan dawned on her - "I, um....I'll have to use Santa's magic!" Thankfully, she didn't ask the obvious question - How am I planning to get my baby out...
Until we were in the food court at the mall last week, during lunch time, surrounded by tables of people - "Mom? How'd you get that baby in there? Mom? MOM? HOW'D YOU GET THAT BABY IN THERE? How's he going to come out?!" You don't hear a kid ask that in public without turning to stare and find out how the mother is going to answer. Thank God, she took "Let's talk about that when we get home, finish your lunch!" as an acceptable answer and dropped the subject. I was not prepared. I'm still not prepared. Though I suppose I better get prepared, because Anna's like an elephant - she never forgets.
Disclaimer: I am not actually naming my baby Rutabaga. Unless I change my mind. Which I very well might do.