It seems to have taken a little over two years, but our house has become a family house, particularly on the weekend. Tonight our living room table was cluttered with Cottage Inn boxes, splattered with pizza sauce and crumpled napkins, and “Cars” was on the TV after 6 o’ clock. I don’t know how many times we’ve watched that movie, but I have yet to tire of Connor’s reaction when he’s knows it’s about to come on: jumping up and down while flapping his arms like a baby bird trying to fly as he clamors onto the couch preparing to get rocked by Lightning McQueen and Mater. Oh how I love being a mom.
I’m thankful that we can provide ‘Rado with a biological playmate, but I’m pretty sure this will be my last pregnancy. I’m uncomfortable, achy, emotional, and just not patient enough to not do the things that professionals say to not do when pregnant. Little Pea, I love you (although after you’re born I’ll probably go through that period of shock where I forcefully wish you were back in my belly and much easier to care for), but this pregnancy has been hard for me. ‘Rad’s pregnancy was easy and magical because it was my first, I was at a very accomodating and supportive job, and I had no one else to care for but myself, Z, and Blue Boy. Not much of that applies this time around. However, I’m excited about the growth of our family – today Z and I talked about what it would be like with “the boys” – and we wouldn’t be growing without this little bun in the oven. But after this bun pops out (quickly, painlessly, and without complications I hope), any additional buns that may be added to our family will likely be baked in someone else’s oven.
All this weekend I’ve been trying to imagine life with another little being in the mix, a helpless one who just sleeps and eats and poops and, well, that’s about all I remember of Connor’s infant days. My mind makes it seem easy and manageable. Then, I think of the Boppy pillow and constantly having to pop out a boob for feedings and watching out for the umbilical cord before it falls off and putting petroleum jelly on a tiny circumsized weenus and, you know, it still seems ok. I think all four of us will survive, no worse for the wear. I don’t know where this sense of optimism is coming from because it seems completely uncalled for, but I believe in it. I may be starting to believe in my abilities to be a mom, think, even though I know I don’t know what I’m in for with Little Pea. I’m going to stay with Journey on this one – don’t stop believing.