So, you know, I've been a living in the Land of Disillusionment. Only a little. And even then, mostly part-time. But still. . . Not where you want to be living when you are decidedly and purposely 4 months pregnant with your 1st.
Now Sue, on the other hand, deserves to be mayor of this little city-state I just manufactured out of thin air. . . Sue is undecidedly and accidentally 6 month-ish pregnant with her 4th. (You can read a little about it here. She's freakin' hilarious.)
Mental note: do not give away baby stuff until after one of us is fixed. . .
I've decided that, not only did I not truly have a clue about pregnancy - given that I simply thought about the end result (baby), kicked off my knickers, jumped on the party bus that is the the babymaking bandwagon and never looked back - I also did not think about life with a newborn. Sure, now it makes me go a little gooey inside when I see those little babies in those magazine pics. But, really I think I just pictured myself with a two-year old. Or at least an 8-month old. Definitely not a newborn. And last I checked, they don't wait to come out only after they've passed that mewling, underdeveloped (it's a fact!) newborn stage.
I remember when I was reading Girlfriend's Guide to Baby Gear and it talked about caring for the cord stump. I was all "whaaaa??" And that's when the reality of having a tiny newborn in our house hit me. I remember because I did a mental "oh crap!" and had to take the next few minutes to calm down.
My husband, too, loving dad he already is (more on that in the next post) I think just pictures a toddler rather than a newborn. Truly we're in for an abrupt and strange reality.
Kind of like the reality that has become adjusting to my changing body. I continue to belch constantly at even the smallest provocation - bowl of cereal, nectarine, chocolate cake - and there are many willing to testify against me on this point. Thankfully, there's just me and one other witness to the fact that I am really beginning to dislike the way my boobs look. Not cool. Not cool at all. Oh! And also, what's with the profound lazy streak? Also not cool! And, and! I can't wait until my pee smells normal again. (see? this is what happens when you get too used to your own self for too many years. perhaps I should have started this whole thing in my 20s?)
I think I need to get together with L and hang out a little more often (like we used to) and let her earth mother ways soak into my tired (but not-yet-overstretched) pregnant skin. She has a keen ability to focus on the long term (i.e. baby at the end of the tunnel). Or at least that's what she tells me. Only when I dare to complain does she admit that she, too, would get out of the shower and rush back to bed, unable to finish getting ready because she was too exhausted or nauseated to go on.
btw, can you tell I only got 4 hours of sleep last night? That's what happens when you get a burst of energy and milk it for all it's worth, glorying in the fact that you haven't stayed up until almost 2 in the morning for at least 4 months now. . . but your body wakes up at 6:00 with a full bladder and no desire to return to sleep.
~Nichole
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