Holding It Down

I am just so, so ginormously pregnant. I took this photo almost a month ago.

When I tell people I'm not due until St. Patty's day, I get looks of amazement and sympathy. I've gotten more than my fair share of the semi-insensitive "Wow you're huge!" or "That's going to be one big baby!" comments lately. And at my last two doctor's visits, I've been measuring big. I know that isn't the end of the world, but it is unusual for me. The last 1743 times I have been pregnant I always measured right on schedule. Coupled with the fact that I've been sick more or less since Christmas, and you have the makings of one miserable mama.

I've been trying, I really have, to embrace this pregnancy. Even if SOB isn't thrilled about the prospect of permanent fertility control, I am willing to take matters into my own hands.

see more Historic LOL

Well, not exactly like that, but you get my drift. I am willing to go under the knife to prevent any future accidental offspring.

So knowing that I will not be having any more children, I really want to be present and enjoy, when possible, these last interminable weeks of gestation. And there are times that I can step back and just relish those kicks and squirms that make my whole torso change shape, or when Lucy comes over to 'pet' the baby, or when Maggie sticks her finger in my belly button and shouts BABY!

But most of the time, I am just plain miserable. I don't sleep well, all of the congestion and sickness make me vomit more than I have at any other time in my life, I can't carry my non-baby baby around, or anything else for that matter, my feet hurt, my hips hurt, my back hurts, my husband doesn't like the name I want to give the baby, and IT SNOWS EVERY GODDAMNED DAY.

Despite all of that, I'm going try my best to focus on the more positive aspects of things in the coming weeks. So hopefully for you and me, this will be the last bitchy post for a long while.

But if you notice things get photo-centric here, well try and send me some happy vibes. Please?

Hard Habit To Break

Over the past few weeks I've come to a realization that is altogether shocking and even a little painful to admit. 

I want another baby.

I dream about newborns. I'm sad every month when I get my period. I saw a mother at Target yesterday with a boy so small, he couldn't have been more than two weeks old. As soon as I heard his newborn cry the front of my shirt was soaked. That isn't supposed to happen anymore! I'm thinking about weaning for crissakes! 

It doesn't help that I've been seeing babies everywhere in the blogsphere. First the Pioneer Woman's sister had a delicious little boy. Then just today the dear Mrs. Chicken gave birth to another lovely little boy. Even Blogger is throwing pictures of adorable little babies in my face every time I log in. 

The main problem with this new found desire of mine is that SOB has come to his own realization lately, and guess what? He's all but certain he doesn't want any more kids. Strike that. He's certain, or so he says.

So what's a girl to do? The subject, naturally, comes up. Most of the time we make a joke and kind of sweep it under the rug. Both of us know that one of us is going to have to cave. Make a sacrifice. It's likely to be me, honestly. The realistic side of me knows that another baby isn't the best idea in regards to, you know, our general happiness in the short term future.

It's the long term outlook that gives me pause.