Of the two, this pregnancy has definitely been the more emotional of the two, which worries me as to what that may mean for our little pea. I’d like to think I’m still pretty easy to deal with as a pregnant wife, but the truth is I cried last night when Z couldn’t figure out how to do something on Excel for his homework assignment. However, I haven’t made him go out to get me food at any time nor have I thrown a tantrum about anything, so I maintain that Z has had it positively easy with me. I have just shed a few tears over other things like the ending of “Cars,” the fact that I look haggard and tired, and because some days I just really want to have a drink. Of coffee. And maybe sometimes a stiff bloody mary.
We all still make it through, though. Connor is a rockstar who has gone dancing the past two weekends. Once in this dapper getup for my brother-in-law’s wedding:
and this past Saturday for a Halloween party in this costume (he’s a bit blurry because the boy wanted to dance and started stomping around before the tunes even started):
His cousin dressed as Spiderman for the same party and thanks to the cape on his costume, Connor thought he was dressed as Superman. Oh, I’ll miss the ease of these hard days.
What I won’t miss is how he’s been flopping around on his changing pad like a fish out of water. Many mornings I’ll be practically brought to tears from struggling just to wipe off his tush while trying to not get kicked in the stomach. I attempt to reason with him, try to keep my cool, and sometimes lose it but nothing works. I have walked out on him while he’s messing around on the changing pad, trying to convince myself that I would care if he fell off of it because at that moment I’m just so done with it. It’s hard when you’re done with something and it’s not done with you. Z tells me to essentially put the fear of god in him to make him settle down when I need to change his diaper. Maybe I am not god-fearing enough myself to pass that on to Connor. What used to feel like long, leisurely mornings with him have become shortened and cramped because I need to allow at least 15 minutes just to wipe his ass, put it in a diaper, and get him dressed. Even then I’m rushing us into the car while trying to calm myself down before I walk into work.
I don’t like dreading my mornings with him, but they’ve turned a little into that after his sweet “Morning, Mama” is out of the way. I don’t want any less time with him. What I want is less whining and less changing-pad flipping and less “I said ‘no’!” This morning after another struggle-filled diaper changing session, Connor said, “Mama happy now?” with a look of contrition as we walked into the garage. In that moment I wanted to be happy with him and was slightly tickled that my happiness was his concern. In the same turn, I don’t want him to be as concerned with what will make me happy as with what is right. I don’t expect him to get any of this right now, but I feel the need to watch myself so I don’t raise ‘Rado to be a people pleaser, even if the person he wants to most please is me. I want him to do what he thinks is right, because I struggle with the same thing – making people happy or making myself happy – all the time.
The older I get (or maybe the more pregnant I get), the thinner my skin is getting and the closer I am to just saying what I’m thinking; I’m closer to that point, haven’t gotten there but a few times. But I’m starting to see the advantage of thin skin. I’ve always had pretty thick skin, at least as far as anyone could see. It’s part personality trait, part cultivated characteristic. Thick skin can hide a lot, and I’ve used it to do that – to hide and hold things in. But thin skin, thin skin doesn’t hide. Thin skin lets people know how it’s feeling, and I’m tried of hiding. Hiding is tiring and a waste of time.
In honor of not hiding, this week I’ve decided that I’m going to do whatever the hell I feel like doing. I’m going to stay up late if I want even though all the pregnancy books say to make sure you get as much sleep as possible. I’m going to make plans because I have a life, too. I’m going to spew all my crazy feelings to Z and cry whenever the hell I want to because not doing those things feels like poison. I’m going to sleep in instead of working out, unless I feel like working out in which case I’ll go to work a little lathered because I wanted to get all my reps in. And right now, I’m going to climb into bed and snuggle up with some mindless magazines.