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.
