I have less than 16 weeks to go in this pregnancy, which once felt like a very long time, but now is sort of not enough time because do you mean to tell me that in just over three months there will be an actual infant human being in our home? And our lives? And I need to learn how to use these boobs for an actual purpose? And I'll probably never sleep again?
As I type, he's kicking away as if confirming the answer to every one of those questions. He's already grounded.
One thing I noted yesterday, and I am not ashamed to admit, is that I hope our boy is a sweet, delicate nerd. And that he'll wear Star Wars t-shirts and play with LEGOs. He'll want to read about science and be good at math. He'll be gentle and never want to wear a flat-brimmed ball cap or puka shell necklace. Is it bad that I am okay if he never gets into sports? Except running. He'll want to be a runner, naturally. And maybe tiny toddler tee-ball situations because that's adorable. He'll enjoy sports, of course. But only the Packers and the Brewers and the occasional Badgers football game with grandpa.
I truly want my child to be his own person. I swear. I do. Individuality! Just not flat-brimmed ball cap jock sort of person.
Sigh. Parenting. This will be difficult.
One new development this week is visible baby gymnastics. I can now see my belly spasm when he jolts about. My pregnancy app tells me he weighs a pound-and-a-half and is 13 inches long. Or the size of an eggplant. And I'm sorry, but emoji culture has forever ruined the eggplant for me, so in favor of being less phallic, he's also the size of an Arctic Puffin. WHICH IS AMAZING. If you love Elf. WHICH I DO.
We spent the weekend camping, which I thought would be horrendous while five months pregnant, but turns out the only miserable one was the poor dog, who longed for her couch, her house, and literally anything not related to nature. We went kayaking (Todd paddled), we ate shitty food (mostly I did), and the very first stranger asked me when I'm due. When I told her October and told her it was a boy, she replied, "I knew it! It's all belly!"
BLESS HER HEART.
It is very much belly, and it's not getting any smaller, but I'm still nervously awaiting the explosion of weight. At just over 24 weeks, I think I'm up about 20 pounds and that's got nowhere else to go but up. Thankfully, I can still run, and most recently, ride my bike while stationary on the trainer in the basement. But all of that is difficult and time-consuming when all I want to do is lie down, eat s'mores, and melt into the hellfire oblivion that is still pregnancy heartburn.
Another fun, new game my body likes to play, other than night sweats, weight gain, heartburn, swollen appendages, freak show boobs, hormone rage, and leaking parts, is that alllllllll the food I eat has nowhere to go. Rather, it refuses to go. Anywhere.
Everything physically is very awesome and Todd is a lucky, lucky man to have married me when he did. I am an impressive show of beauty, grace and sex appeal.
Pregnancy is beautiful, you guys.
But what's funny is we talked -- very seriously -- about having another in the future. Now, it is kind of hard to stomach, literally, the thought of another 40 weeks of beautiful, clean, comfortable pregnancy while very much in the thick of it as we speak, but I didn't run away screaming at the thought.
I've always wanted two children of my own. Granted, I imagined I'd be much younger when it all took place, but that desire didn't necessarily go away at the realization that I'll be an AARP member when my children are in middle school, so whatever.
I think, mostly, I love realizing that, if we choose and are able, we can absolutely have another baby in the next few years. And that baby, 100 percent, no questions asked, better be a girl, so help me god.
No I'm not.
WE STILL HAVE A SOLID GIRL NAME PICKED OUT, OKAY? I CANNOT IN GOOD FAITH LET THAT OPPORTUNITY DISAPPEAR.
Or I guess I know what we can name our next pet...
So in the meantime, while we await baby boy, perhaps we'll prepare a nursery for him. We've made some solid progress. As in, his room is now empty, whereas before it was full of shit, figuratively, although I think Chicken perhaps left a doodle or two behind in one of her errant cat rampages.
All we need now is some stuff. And things. Everything. No big deal. I assume Target and Amazon will willingly ship us everything we registered for, right? Is that how that works? Sort of like when the stork delivers the baby?
In fifteen weeks and five days.
HANG TIGHT, INTERNET. Just a few more months of these blog posts.
You know, until that hypothetical second baby comes around.