How many posts do I have to start before I realize that perhaps I don't have to write the most amazing post ever that perfectly encapsulates exactly how I feel in this moment about my son, pregnancy/future daughter, marriage, all friendships, work? The answer is 3. I need to start writing 3 posts and never manage to adequately express feelings that don't translate well to paper. Just get a freaking update out there, Amy.
Here's the "just get it out there" synopsis.
Henry is incredible. I love him more and more every day. He says hilarious things because he is 20-months-old and hasn't quite mastered the English language. He smells really good despite our lazy approach to toddler hygiene. He potentially smells even better than a newborn baby. I'll do a sniff test comparison in a few months and will report back. I am full of hormones and hate the smell of everything but toddlers. This weekend he started telling us, in full 3-word sentences, what he likes. It's as though he was just waiting for the language to come in and now can't stop telling us. "I like monkeys. I like puppies. I like snakes. I like choo-choos." Yesterday he told us, "Amo Abu house," which, in toddler Spanglish, means "I love Grandma's house." We're not actually raising him bilingual, though I always swore I would do that. We just use smatterings of convenient Spanish and he's picked up on it like he picks up on everything.
About 40 times a day I am struck by excitement to watch him be a wonderful big brother, immediately followed by a little sadness that he won't be my sweet one and only anymore.
The pregnancy is continuing, baby girl is constantly active, and all of a sudden time is really ticking down. At 28 weeks, it was confirmed that my placenta previa hasn't budged. Placenta accreta (placenta attached too deeply into the uterine wall) is still thought to be unlikely but cannot be ruled out. No bleeds to date. Since I don't have the option of willing my placenta into a safe spot up and away from my cervix, without accreta, and without the risk of the umbilical cord dangling over my cervix (vasa previa risk), then everything is truly going as I hoped it would. There's no drama, everything is stable if not completely "Ina May Gaskin, Let's Have a Baby on The Farm" ideal. A c-section has been set for 37 weeks on the dot to prevent me from going into labor on my own and bleeding out or some similarly unfortunate fate. My OB will check again at 34 weeks to see if there's any further movement and, if so, then the c-section will be cancelled. Or, in the event of the development of vasa previa, done immediately. I'm now at the point where I have my mind so thoroughly wrapped around the idea of a c-section on February 10th that I would be completely thrown if I was told that labor and a vaginal birth was back on the table. A scheduled c-section is exactly the opposite of what I wanted for Henry's birth but it's what's been presented to me as the only safe option for this time around. Additionally, the Type A in me is reveling in the exquisitely planned nature of this whole ordeal. Granola me got her chance last time. I realize this sounds kind of awful. I should just want whatever is best for the baby and, statistically, a vaginal birth is best. I should mourn the loss of that. And I think I did but I started doing it 10 weeks ago and I've long been done. I've moved on. I'm outrageously excited to meet my daughter and I'm sort of loving the degree of planning I can do. I mean, I've scheduled a hair cut for the afternoon before because I can. Fucking weird.
As an aside, by "planning" for the second I mean that I need to buy tiny diapers, decide which of Henry's newborn and 0-3 clothes are either gender neutral or so soft/cute that I don't care, drag out the burp cloths, swaddle blankets, cradle, and get my hair did.
One of the great things about having kept a blog last time around is that I can check in and see how I was feeling about things at whatever trimester milestone. I was somewhat comforted to see that at this point last time, I was completely overwhelmed by work and feeling like I was flailing around helplessly. So at least I'm consistent. I'm a proud feminist, always have been, but there is something to be said for the fact that 46% of your brain mass gets replaced by cottage cheese in the third trimester. My hips hurt so I don't sleep well and I'm always tired and hungry. It becomes more difficult to be super awesome all the time. It just does. And that makes work harder to enjoy because it's hard to enjoy feeling like a mediocre employee.
My last note about this juncture of pregnancy: I am entirely bipolar when it comes to my marriage. I am either so ridiculously, high-schoolishly in love J and texting him about how blessed we are and yada yada yada or I'm plotting horrible things because he is being indecisive about what to watch on TV, has chosen the wrong night to watch a game with his friends, or he has lost something that I am sure I put in some very specific place. I get annoyed soooooo easily. On the other hand, J has been picking up the slack that I've created by passing out on the couch every night at 8:30. He cooks, cleans and walks the dogs way more than he used to have to do. We're not anywhere close to 50/50 right now and while he's been beyond wonderful, I know that it grates on him. Add my propensity towards being overly-critical and it's awesome. We spend a lot of time rolling our eyes at each other. And then he jumps on the other side of my hormonal bandwagon with me and we moon over how wonderfully blessed we are, how much we love each other, Henry and baby girl. If I recall, this goes on through infancy. Oh, we'll make it through. So long as we can ride those hormonal upswings together we'll be just fine.
Having a family is easy.