I had a doctor’s appointment today. The currently baking kiddo looks good on ultrasound, sounds good on the doppler, and has started to kick like a real champ. Week 21 is looking good. However, I’m falling prey to that second-child trap again. The one where you compare everything about this baby and this pregnancy with everything from the last baby and the last pregnancy. So unfair. This time on the merry-go-round I feel like I’ve been four months pregnant for 5 months. The nurse practitioner kindly kept her jaw from dropping when I stepped on the scale this morning, but asked me more weight questions at this visit than at any previous one. I think I see stretch marks erupting from my stomach and shattering the birthmark to the right of my belly button. I have to exchange the bridesmaid’s dress I got for my brother-in-law’s wedding in October for the next size up – three sizes larger than my pre-pregnancy size. Despite reassurances that the weight I’ve gained is “all baby,” I also feel that it’s all cankles, backfat, and ass. With Connor I just felt cute and perky and pregnant. With this baby I feel like an old man mixed with Godzilla; I can demolish food in the blink of an eye but I need to hitch up my pant legs and hold up my belly before sitting down for any meal. In short, I feel hot. Oh yeah, I’m working with real goddess material here.
Connor must be picking up on some sort of vibe from me or really tuning into his 2-year old one because he has dialed up the clinginess to an 11. He repeats “Mama” like a pond full of frogs echoing “Rrrbbbit,” but only calls for “Daddy” to give him hugs. He gives the sweetest kisses to his baby brother in my belly, but also tries to bounce and push on said belly like it’s a bean bag blocking a doorway. If I have enough energy, I try to calm him down or counter the bad behavior. The rest of the time (the majority of the time?), I look at him through tired eyes and try to shield my stomach from flying ‘Rado feet or his jumpy little tush.
But ‘Rad know how to reel me back in when all I want to do is lock him in a keyless room. He has started saying, “Love you, Daddy. Love you, Mommy” as Z and I leave his room at night. In the morning, if he’s awake before Z leaves for work, he will ask to see Daddy and he will give him a smile so big I can feel it even if I can’t see it. He has started saying so many hilarious, heartwarming, ridiculous things that whenever we are around him we watch and listen to him like he’s a brand new channel. And every day he is. You really never know what you’re going to get. Here are a few of the most recent gems:
*While in a room at my parents’ house, Connor sees a naked Ken doll on the floor. He points to it’s belly, then looks at Z and I and says, “Belly.” We affirm his observation. He then goes on to say, “That’s inappropriate.”
*In our efforts to potty train, we were pulling ‘Rado’s training pants back up after a trip to the potty. As we’re putting them back on he says, “Bye penis. See you later!”
*At storytime Connor pulled out a magazine that we had never read before. He started getting bored with it, so after the first few pages he started flipping through it very quickly, after which he promptly shut it then declared, “The end.”
I fear that he knows how entertaining he is, so he really hams it up at the wrong time or just all the time. Can a kid be too goofy, though? I mean, we are talking about the offspring of Z and I. ‘Rad’s fate might pretty much be sealed here. I’m not going to worry about it too much at this point. He’s hilarious and smart and goofy and polite and a huge pain in my ass when we need to get out the door now. I love that little booger.