I don’t know what came over me. One day, I looked at Darla walking around and talking and thought, “holy crap, I think I want to have another one.” I brought it up to Greg and he wasn’t sold on the idea for a few more months.
We both knew, once we found out I was pregnant with Darla, that we were going to have another kid. In fact, within minutes of Darla being born I thought, “Oh crap, I’m going to have to do the whole pregnancy and delivery crap all over again someday.” I had been dreading getting pregnant ever since.
Overtime, however, the morning sickness, extreme fatigue, the baby limbs jutting out of my stomach, the heartburn and the peeing 20 to 25 times a day became a distant memory. I looked back on myself from 2010 and thought I was just being a baby. It wasn’t that bad.
Once I got pregnant this time, I quickly realized that it really was as bad as I had remembered. I was sick for 19 weeks, had a few weeks where I felt ok and then the extreme fatigue and discomfort kicked in. I’m not a very grateful pregnant woman. I’m angry and I complain a lot. I don’t enjoy being pregnant and see it as the cross I must bare in order to get the baby.
Which brings me to today; 38.5 weeks pregnant. I’m shortly going to introduce a baby boy, currently named Butter courtesy of Darla, into the world. And I’m terrified beyond words. I know it’s going to be hard. I know it’s going to rock my world and that it’s going to be like climbing a mountain with a toddler clinging to my leg and a newborn strapped to my chest. I know I’m going to be even more exhausted than I am now.
I, also, know, that life’s going to get even more awesome because I’m going to get to meet Baby Butter and watch he and Darla grow up together. These past months are a small price to pay for that amount of amazing.