What’s better than a champagne toast at midnight on New Year’s Eve, you ask?
How about an epidural?
Go ahead and leave the button where I can reach it.
The countertops and sink are literally invisible under breakfast dishes, I’m letting the not-quite-two year old nap dangerously late into the afternoon, and the basement is filled with the happy/destructive sounds of children at play who are mercifully far from my line of vision. Which means yes, we’re upgrading to a family of 7. Baby Bing number 5, headed your way December 31st, 2017. And no, that mini van poll on Facebook the other day was not a purely intellectual exercise.
Now that I have ultrasound evidence in hand, I can breathe easy that Cinque Bing is indeed traveling solo, and so perhaps our 7 seater Honda Odyssey will live to ride another year. Or two. Really depends on finding some skinny carseats for that back row, and training Evie to self buckle by Christmas.
Was this baby planned? Sure, by God. And yes, we have a vague idea of what causes that. Are we happy? Very. The feelings of overwhelm lasted a day or so for me, and were alleviated hugely by our wonderful parents (both sets – we’re blessed beyond belief) and our siblings who have pitched in with babysitting help and general morale boosting during what has been my hardest first trimester. But I don’t barf, so how can I complain? I can’t.
This will be our longest gap between kids (2.5 years, thanks Marquette!), and I thiiiink I’m having another girl because I feel so terrible, which was how I felt with Evie. Also, I haven’t really gained any weight, which was also how it went down with her. At least in the first 20 weeks. Cackle. We aren’t planning to find out the sex because the anticipation helps me endure the home stretch, and also because I enjoy shocking strangers by not knowing the answer when they ask “boy or girl?”
While I’m not showing yet (thanks, constant nausea), I’m comfortably rocking these under belly maternity jeans with stretchy elastic side panel things that I was certain were a terrible idea, only to find that they’re really, really comfy and really, really effective at taking any hint of pressure off a midsection that does not want to be touched at all. Also, vv on trend, which is important when you’re gearing up to be a grand multipara of advanced maternal age <— my new fancy official title as I will turn 35 about a week before bebe debuts.
Some thoughts. Pregnancy is hard, but it’s less hard when there are lots of other small people running around needing stuff from you. I’m tired allllll the time, and I’m climbing into bed at 8 some nights, about when the kids are down(ish), but I still think I’m less tired than when I was 28 and pregnant with Joey working full time behind a desk.
We are so blessed by our uncompromisingly pro life community of family and friends. We have not been met with a single negative comment, only overwhelming joy and excitement and support. So even if somebody should say something ridiculous in Costco 5.5 months from now, I have an expansive 3 months of goodwill and good cheer to bank from. Our school principal hugged me with tears in her eyes when I told her we were going to need to talk tuition discounts. Our doctor spent 20 unhurried minutes on my first ultrasound this morning, just because “I love seeing that first glimpse of these little guys, it’s just so awesome every time.” Both sets of grandparents are over the moon.
In short, we are abundantly blessed, and I’m very aware that to whom much is given, much is entrusted. Which is probably why I’ve been able to continue to write about fun stuff like NFP during these past few months, even while feeling like a grade A slug.
For those of you who don’t receive this kind of support and joy and encouragement when you announce a new life, who perhaps struggle month after month hoping to conceive and hearing “no” over and over again, enduring silent judgements and suffering a quieter martyrdom, please know this: you are my real heroes.
We’ve been immensely blessed by the presence of this baby, even in the midst of a kind of crazy season of life. And by crazy I mean living in a friend’s (mercifully empty) house in another city, commuting an hour to work/school(until last week) and our parish, and driving 4 wily kids all over Denver for about a dozen showings a week. And yeah, we’re having a baby.
But I’ve found, remarkably, that the baby is actually the bright spot in the chaos of a season of unpredictability, which either makes me crazy or makes the world very, very wrong about what actually constitutes “ideal circumstances” for bringing forth new life.
And hey, if I haven’t answered your email promptly, it’s probably because I’ve been lying flat on my back tossing unwrapped popsicles out the back door and counting down the minutes to 6pm.
Sweet little baby, we’re so glad you’re here. Welcome to the circus.