38 Weeks...And Counting

Hello again, friends.  After a short hiatus, I'm back.  This time, with a list of things about which I would like to tell you.  Now, I have toyed with the idea of a full-on spill session, but that would mean I would be camped in front of the laptop for hours...and I don't have hours.  So, as much as I would love a proper catch-up, how about a bit at a time?  Deal?

Let's start with the most pressing...literally.

As I type this, I am 38 weeks and 4 days pregnant, but who is counting?  Oh, who am I kidding??  I am counting!  I have been around and seen enough to know that each day the baby stays inside is a day the baby needs to stay inside, but I'm more than ready to meet him/her, to welcome a new, sweet, fresh little life into our family.  Obviously, I have been expecting this for months, but not really.  Not until just recently have I started to think about what life is going to be like with a newborn; what life will be like with four kids under 6; what life will be like for me, for us, for the sweet little babe.  I'm ready to find out.

Truthfully, I am very comfortable.  I feel really good, aside from the constant pressure on my cervix, the Braxton Hicks, which can wake me in the middle of the night, and the surges of energy followed by sheer exhaustion.  I think I feel good because I want to feel good.  I'm so excited, I'm probably half-numb to any uncomfortabilities.

To date, I have gained 18lbs, eat about that much in ice daily (seriously, and I think our ice maker is the slowest...one...ever), have developed tendonitis in both of my wrists, and cannot think of a single thing that tastes good, aside from strawberries and turkey sandwiches.  My blood pressure has been great, my ultrasounds uneventful--really, the entire pregnancy has been uneventful...and that's fine.  It's good, in fact.  Coming from an emergency RN, uneventful is good.

The boys are very excited.  Leo wants his new brother, Tango, to come out and sleep in his bed, Patrick is looking forward to a sister named Hermoine, and little Hatch is so busy finding out who he is that he barely has a clue what's going on, aside from his room changing and that he can't lay on top of my chest anymore.  At the time of baby's birth, Patrick will be 5, Leo-3, and Hatch-22 months.  My sweet boys.  And, as I think about how it went with each of their births, it really is sort of a haze.  I don't really recall how it became that we so quickly ended up here...likely finishing off our family, when it seems like we just got started making it.  In five short years, four new people who didn't even exist before.  It's a miracle, isn't it?

And, part of that miracle is finding out who it is we are supposed to raise.  As I have mentioned before, I don't think it's an accident or a coincidence that we have the boys we do.  Each one has taught us so much about ourselves and about life as a family.  Each one is a crucial asset to this family, and this new one will be no different.  In just a few days or weeks, we will find out exactly who and what this family was missing.  In that period of time, we'll become a little more whole. 

And, while we're waiting for that to happen, I'll be here cleaning.  And nesting.  And making everyone in this house crazy with my constant movement and my incessant nagging about picking up toys and wallets and shoes and miscellaneous items.  (But, let me tell you, the floors in this place practically sparkle.  I couldn't clean them more if I tried.) 

While we're on topic, I found this little article online the other day (The 10 Worst Things About Being Married to a Pregnant Woman), and as I started to read it out loud to Adam, I had tears streaming down my face from laughing.  So did Adam...carefully, as he wasn't sure how much of a sense of humor I still had.  You can access the whole article here, but I'll leave you with just this little snippet.  The #1 worst thing about being married to a pregnant woman...at least THIS pregnant woman:

1. Violent mood swings.

Crazy as it seems, that beautiful and sexy woman you married has the strength and stamina of a hungry UFC fighter. During this time she wants things a certain way and if they don't go her way, hell's fury will rain down. During our first pregnancy, my wife asked me to vacuum the carpet on a Friday night. I got the vacuum out, but got busy doing something else. Sunday afternoon rolled around and I was parked in front of the TV set watching the Cowboys - vacuum still in the middle of the living room and carpet untouched. She asked me again to vacuum the carpet. I told her I would after the game was over. The skies turned black, the wind picked up, and Psycho music started playing. This should've tipped me off to what was going to happen next. My beautiful, pregnant bride easily picked up the upright vacuum cleaner with one hand, threw it across the room at me and screamed, "VACUUM THE & %#$*@ CARPET!!!". She ran out of the room crying and I sat there saying things to myself like "I'll be damned someone throws a vacuum cleaner at me...," "Who does she think she is?!?!?", and "I am married to a crazy b***h!". Then I vacuumed the carpet for the next 30 minutes.

Please say a prayer that we will welcome sweet Baby Walden (well, we hope he/she is sweet) sooner than later.  We cannot really wait much longer.  Adam can't take it.  Say two prayers, if you can.