I had such grand plans; I always do. This time, I was going to fill a journal with loving notes documenting the mystery and magic of growing a human life and all the personal wonder that entails (Not in too much detail! Even I have limits.). I should know by now that my ideas are way bigger than my britches. I'm now officially in my third trimester and this, coupled with my earlier mentioned goals, leads me to believe I can handle but one creative endeavor at a time. So, I shall try and remedy that now.
First off, let me apologize to the soon-to-be-born offspring who is already starting to suffer the slings and arrows of neglect often lobbed at the younger sibling in so many stereotypes. Your sister has been keeping me very busy. Irish dance class, social engagements, ferrying to hither and yon, packing lunches, and bane of my existence, math homework. Spelling and reading are generally no biggie, but I have prayed more than once, that you will be a natural at math. Is that wrong? No pressure. But please, I beg of you...
Your journey in many ways has been quite similar to that of your older sister, who will soon be dragging you around like a life-size doll: a pregnancy wrought with nervousness, anticipation, many-many heparin injections, and paper cut-outs of family names being shuffled around the dining room table to ensure you have a fighting shot as President of United States. Again, no pressure. But the retirement home your father and I have chosen is quite pricey, and did I mention the injections?
There have definitely been some considerable differences in the gestation period between you and your sister as well. I barfed with her only a couple of times and morning sickness was moderate light. You only made me toss my cookies once. Oh, you're the good one, right? Guess again. I was nauseated non stop. I did not get hungry, I just got more pukey feeling: morning, noon, night, no reprieve. Did I mention that pricey old folks home yet? Totally not a joke.
I felt kind of tired with your sister. With you? Three hour naps in the morning after I would drop off your dad and sibling at their respective destinations only to later nap again in the carpool lane at school pickup. I can only hope that the soft-top on the car was enough to muffle my snoring. As for the open-mouthed drooling part, I now see the benefits of tinted windows. Sadly, we don't have those. I can't believe those other parents have not completely shunned me. A small miracle, really.
Now, there is something that may just earn you a 10% discount on your "fund your parents' retirement" bill. So far, I've gained less weight with you. You totally get points for that. A couple of times, when wearing black, I've been able to convince my self that I don't look pregnant at all... Until I turn sideways and that fantasy is blasted clear out of the water. But overall, I can't complain, which is definitely saying something seeing that complaining is one of specialties. And you are a kicker, for sure, without a doubt. You deliver the kinds of kicks that make me screw up my face in public leading perfectly congenial strangers to wonder if I'm giving them dirty looks. But I love feeling you kick, so that's just fine. In fact, I'm used to strangers (and those that know me well) thinking I'm crazy.
There you go. A quick summary to get me off the hook for the lack of careful diary making I had in mind for your future reading, in addition to a warning to start your financial planning early. My old-folks home will have a golf course I think (actually, I plan on talking to them soon to get them started on construction). Of course, if this blog post is in an indicator of parenting to come, you might have some substantial therapy bills to pay for. It will probably be a wash. So let's just say this, little squirt... I love you and we're even.