Still pregnant here, just in case you got excited about a new post.
It's probably worth mentioning, for posterity's sake if nothing else, that this has really been a relatively easy pregnancy for me. OK, the first 15 weeks were fairly miserable, but this time I knew I'd survive. And while pre-eclampsia the first time around put me at a higher risk for it again, there's been so sign so far. Which is not to say that I haven't worried a lot about everything, particularly since the ripe old age of 37 puts me firmly in the "advanced maternal age" category.
In fact, the only thing to materialize that's at all out of the ordinary is really relatively mild. Unless you're me. In the last three weeks, I've developed a "pregnancy tumor" on my lower lip. Completely harmless to baby and to me, except for wounding my vanity. I had one with Calla, although it was relatively subtle and demure, and it went away after she was born. Lucky me, it then came back a while later, slightly less demure and more angry, but a visit to a dermatologist neatly took care of it for good.
Until three weeks ago, when it came back with a vengeance. It started off nice enough, so I didn't feel like a freak of nature in Jess and Ben's wedding pictures. But once the wedding pictures were done, the gloves came off, apparently. It's gone from pea-sized to chick-pea-sized now... and showing no signs of letting up until the baby arrives. My dermatology appointment is already scheduled for post-baby, but if I could figure out a way to get the dermatologist to meet me in the labor and delivery recover room, you can believe I would.
Of course, on top of that all, I'm now approximately 13 months pregnant, getting more uncomfortable by the day. So let's just say, I'm a little on the sensitive side, emotionally speaking. Joe might have different words to describe my moods, but he's smart enough not to express them out loud in my presence.
Anyway. Last night after dinner, Calla started singing a song from our music class. I don't know it well enough, so I wanted to play the CD so we could all sing along. Simple enough plan, except I apparently loaded that CD into the same slot with another CD. Seems to me you shouldn't be able to do that so easily. So, while Joe's grumbling about the CD player being jammed, Calla's jumping and singing and being a rambunctious two-year-old, and Chloe's running around whining and barking. And I'm getting angry and angrier at whomever designed a CD player that so easily allowed one to load two CDs into one slot.
And, by the way, did I mention I'm 13 months pregnant with a fleshy garbanzo bean hanging off my lip?
So, I broke. "I've had it," I yelled. And then promptly broke into tears. Because that's what you do when you're 13 months pregnant.
Joe hugged me (because that's what you do when you have a crazy pregnant wife) and I sat down and breathed. And then the CD player started working again and Chloe got fed and Calla got to sing her song and we all sang and jumped along with her. And all was fine.
Later, as I was putting Calla to sleep, she remembered the incident.
"Mama, you upset?" Yes, I was upset, but I'm happy now.
"You have a rough day?" Well, I guess so.
"I think you have a rough day."
And that was that. Until this morning in the car, rushing as usual to library story time.
"Mama, you cry last night?" Yes, yes, I did. But I'm fine now.
She cocks her head and looks seriously at me. "You cry last night. I think you miss your daddy."
It's no secret that I can get a little anxious about how we'll manage the crazy rhythms of newborn life with the demands and energies of our spunky two-year-old. But then there are those precious moment of grace when I think, OK, maybe it won't be so bad.
And maybe, just maybe, it might even be a little fun.
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