The Good, The Bad, & The Preggo

As I reflect on the last thirty-eight weeks of this pregnancy, there's a poem ringing in my ears. Written by Langston Hughes, Mother to Son, begins like this:

Well, son, I'll tell you:

Life for me ain't been no crystal stair.

It's had tacks in it,

And splinters,

And boards torn up,

And places with no carpet on the floor --

Bare.

But all the time I'se been a-climbin' on,

And reachin' landin's,

And turnin' corners...

While my life hasn't been as full of strife as this poem conveys, I wouldn't call pregnancy a "crystal stair" & it certainly is full of corners that we preggos have no choice but to turn.

In the beginning the kids weren't too thrilled with the news of our family's new addition.  Our son even whined saying, "Ew, babies stink.  I don't want a baby at our house."  Then, as the weeks passed the acceptance stage slowly crept in, and once the kids found out that the bun in the oven is in fact a  Little Brother, they were on board.   

Of course a baby on the way meant our family needed to upgrade our gas guzzling boat of an SUV to a sensible, safe, practical ride...While some have accused me of now "living the mini-van dream" I do not drive a VAN (I'm not in denial); I drive a BUS & it's freaking awesome.  So awesome I, in fact, may never own another type of vehicle again.  Yes, they say that happens to van owners:

Thankfully I have a dear friend who is a fellow preggo that is expecting triplets, and when I feel down about my ill-fitting wardrobe, my cankles, my restless nights, and my overactive bladder I think of her & the three amazing blessings filling her uterus & riding around town in her van.  Thoughts of her quickly humble me and lead me to realize that I have no room to complain about my state.  She is truly incredible...maybe even legen {wait for it} dary. 

The two of us have treated ourselves to a handful of pedicures for our weary, widening feet followed by lunches where all judgment was cast aside as we ordered and ate whatever we wished that day & occasionally topped it with yum-yum sauce.  We have been spoiled by caring girlfriends (some of whom just may catch the contagion that is baby fever - MU-WHA-HA-HA-HA). We were blown away by the outpouring of love and gifts from friends, family, and neighbors at joint baby shower worthy of Martha Stewart Living.

My #1 Craving - so sinful they
 must be hand rolled by the devil.

 It has been awesome to commiserate with her about unstoppable body changes, diapers, willy nilly doctors, our poor husbands, numerous cravings, and the harsh things strangers utter to us preggos without thinking. Yes, cashier at Food Lion, I am "ready to pop," and thanks for noting that when I still had two+ months remaining until the pop - grrr...and to the stranger who one month ago asked when I was due and then idiotically stated, "Well, at least you won't be pregnant during the hottest part of the summer" -- please know you should never consider being a meteorologist and this pic's for you:



Dang, my bus is dusty...

It's been hot, too hot to really enjoy trekking to the neighborhood pool with small, water gun armed children, laying around on a chaise feeling like a beached Shamu while onlookers gawk at my chips and I, and sitting in the torrid, stagnant water is far from appealing.   I've given up trying to win the friendly monthly electric bill competition with neighbors. I prefer to dwell in an icebox, and I guess I should count my lucky stars that our a/c units haven't crapped out. And as for the sheets and comforter - "Uh, buh-bye."

A few weeks ago I was stuck indoors beating the heat & fighting a nasty virus (the "everybody poops" kind), and I had to send my poor hubby on a dignity-aside-store-run for meds and Gatorade, per the doctor's suggestion. He returned from the store, set his purchases on the kitchen counter, knocked on the bathroom door to tell me where to find the goods, and politely gave the kids a bath & put them to bed.   Here's what I found on the kitchen counter:

What would I do for a Klondike Bar? 
I'd take on a virus.

He's a keeper, and his sweet gestures didn't go unnoticed by the teen male Food Lion cashier who said, "You must be in trouble" as he scanned the roses, chocolate, etc. (guess he didn't notice the anti-diarrheal tablets).  My husband explained that in fact he wasn't "in trouble" but that he had a sick, pregnant wife at home that he was trying to cheer up. A meddlesome granny behind him in line piped up with "Oh, hon, you better make sure your wife can have that medicine." Poor hubby got a sampling of a judgmental, nincompoop stranger (they seem to lurk around every corner that a preggo goes).

All complaints aside, this pregnancy hasn't been horrible.  Sure, it was an adjustment at first as the news of our family growing was quite a surprise.  Yes, it's been bad to be preggo at times (like when I try to sleep, eat without dropping bits onto my beach ball, etc.), but a lot of good has come along for the ride, too. 

I've been blessed with zero morning sickness, minimal nausea, an acceptable weight gain [SIGH], my sweet children who now know my belly cannot be safely used as a slide, friends keeping me emotionally in check when my hormones spiral to the Kleenex box, friends fighting for Godmother status & offering to get baby fixes via free babysitting services, grandmothers stockpiling our arsenal of diapers, our Church congregation & neighbors already planning post-delivery meals, a closet full of sweet, tiny clothes and much needed items for the little man, a thoughtful husband who tolerates my mood swings and will go to the grocery store for me and return with chocolate, flowers, and medication, a geriatric dog that hasn't tripped me once and that we all think is clinging to life just to meet this baby, and a faith that's grown stronger by the day as I plainly see that life is indeed good.  I'm thankful.  Our family is so very blessed, and this baby has no clue what he's being born into - it's going to be great.

And when I hold him for the first time, I know that my heart will grow 'three sizes that day'.

...whenever that day will be...

As Tom Petty sings, "The wai-ai-ting is the hardest part..."