A long time coming...

I have written this post about ten times- the post where I complain to the world about how miserable I feel. The post where I vent and vent and vent about how uncomfortable I am. However, everytime I write it, I press the "save now" button instead of the "publish post" tab. I suppose I never publish it, because I whine enough in my head and to my husband and to my family and my coworkers and to any jim, bob, or harry that asks me the time on the street.

Jim, Bob, or Harry: "Excuse me mam, do you have the time"
Me: "SIX MORE WEEKS!!!!!!!! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

After I write the post, I feel some satisfaction and do not allow my discomfort to stain the web. I never thought I had a real reason to complain- I was not going through anything different than any other pregnant woman goes through in the last few months. I was tired- who isnt. I was peeing every six seconds- so is every other prego. My feet hurt - at least I have feet, right? Well...the tides have turned and now I feel like I have justification to moan and gripe and vent like a furnace.

On Satruday morning, I started to have contractions. Nothing close, but annoying enough and they lasted all day. Sunday- they continued. By Sunday night, not only was I still having them but it started to hurt to breathe. I still had not called the doctor because I refused to be the girl who cried "labor". Plus, I could still function normally, just with some additional whincing. Monday came, and by 2pm I was over-it. I called my doctor, prefacing my story with "I was really hesitant to call, but..." Soon, I had been sent to the hospital. I had to get a CT Scan, because apparently my strained and pained breathing could be a result of blood clots that formed in my pelvis during pregnancy and traveled to my lungs. Lungs are clear, and the doctor made sure to also tell me I was not constipated...thanks doc, I could have told you that. After I was cleared downstairs, I was sent up to Labor and Delivery. They hooked me up to the monitors and it turns out I was contracting...little ones, but they were there and I was validated!!!! Within the next hour, they jumped to two - three minute intervals and very intense. They gave me a shot to stop them, and since then I have been in a state of constant crampiness and discomfort ever since.

I just got back from the doctor- the whole drive back I was on the verge of tears. Still not dilated and still crampy and miserable. I could be like this for the next four weeks. If I was sure feeling like this would guarantee that I would deliver sooner, than I might be emotionally ok with it- but knowing I could still go to my due date and feel like this the entire time just feels like dreadful torture. My doctor told me to have a glass of wine before bed to help me sleep tonight, because the baby has developed as much as she is going to at this point and the rest of the time is just a weight game (excuse me doctor, if that was the case, why did you stop my labor on Monday...thanks).

So here I am, more uncomfortable than the average prego...hoping and praying that I do not have to feel like this for another four weeks.

Being a mom- broken heart cause #0142

Our new neighborhood is wonderful, quiet and full of very nice people. Jack is the youngest child on our street- the closest in age is our next door neighbor's little boy who is four, almost five and Jack will only be two in two weeks.

Jack is always excited to see the little boy, and always says his name and wants to play with him. He does, but what Jack does not understand and neither does the other little boy, is that Jack is still very much a baby. Sure he is a little boy and he walks and talks and runs around and plays, but his legs can only run so fast and his understanding and imagination are still very young. Often times when the little boy next door comes over and plays, it is usually around Jack. I always feel bad for Jack, because he is always trying to keep up and play with him, but he inevitabley seems to get left out because he is still so little.

On Thursday night, we were talking with the neighbors and the little boy next door came over to "play" with Jack with another little four year old girl who also lives on our street. Jack was soaked from head-to-toe after "helping" me water the flowers, and since it was getting darker I decided he needed to be changed into some dry clothes. The kids were at the back of the yard catching lightning bugs, and as I went over I heard them tell Jack that he could not catch the lightning bugs because he was "too small". I brought Jack inside for a moment, and as I was redressing him to go back outside he began talking about something being small. It took me a minute to figure out he was saying "I too small". Between the pregnancy hormones and hearing my little boy repeat what was said to him, I almost burst into tears right there. Whether he understand what it meant or not, I can not be positive, but my heart definitely broke into a million pieces. As he would repeat the phrase whilst expressing a super serious face, I would counter it everytime by telling him he was not too small at all and that he was a big boy.

As any parent, I want my child to be included and to be welcomed. I think about my fun loving, silly, wonderful and playful little boy and I want nothing more than as a parent but for other people-especially other children- to recognize and appreciate that as well.

As innocent as that situation may have been, it could not stop my heart from feeling like it was sucker punched in the gut. I think one of the most vulnerable feelings about being a parent is knowing that even when you are around, you can not protect your child from everything. Things are going to happen whether you like it or not. I can not be there with him every second of the day, and even if I am with him I know that in most situations I need to let things happen and that I can only step-in under certain circumstances. I just hope and pray that I can at least be a comfort and cure rather than a bandaid that simply provides a temporary cover.

Annabelle or Lamp Shade?

Choosing a name for your future child is probably one of the most exciting- and sometimes overwhelming-things about pregnancy. Well, for me at least. You get to choose the name your child will carry with them for the rest of their life, assuming they do not hate it so much that they stomp on your heart and legally change it themselves.

When I was pregnant with Jack, the husband and I knew what name we wanted immediately. He suggested it, I loved it, so it would be. Choosing Grace's name was not as easy. It took a lot more consideration and throwing names back and forth (Well mostly me throwing them and my husband saying "no"). I would watch T.V., listen to songs, read books, and stare at waitress' name tags for inspiration. Godforbid this baby turn out to be a boy, because there is a good chance I'll be inspired by my cereal one morning in the hospital and throw "Tucan Sam" on the birth certificate.

After going through the first pregnancy, and receiving a different reaction everytime someone asked me what we were planning on naming the baby, I was a little hesitant about divulging number two's name. I did not enjoy the contorted faces people would display as I revealed to them my first born's name. It was if I farted in their face with words. I have known people who have actually changed the name they wanted to name their child because of reactions alone.

I still get the same fart wrenched faces among those I reveal number two's name to. I have come to like and appreciate names that are classic, names that have stood the test of time. Names that my kids can take with them through the different stages in their lives. I put a lot of thought into the process, and so when someone gives me a forced "oh, that's nice", I want to rip off their face (or sit and cry, depending on my mood).

So, the moral of the story is that when I am pregnant with number three NO ONE is learning his or her name until the day he or she enters the world. It is I who has to carry the little bugger for nine months, I who has to suffer the stretch marks and weight gain, and I(and my husband) who have to suffer the hormones and sleepless nights and getting spit up and peed on and who can't shower for three days straight- so we can name them whatever the hell we want. Lamp Shade.