I left myself this little hole in between guest posts JUST IN CASE I still had not given birth, or so I could post super cute photos. And, here I am 300,000 weeks pregnant with my breech baby. And I'm kind of okay with that.
Truth? I'm more than a little terrified of bringing home number two. I mean, two is a whole new ball game. First, there is no way I'm going to get lucky the second time around and have a quiet, cuddly, good sleeping, non-crying baby like Oscar was. Little Breechy McBreecherton has already proven itself to be more difficult.
And, then there's just the whole numbers thing. Two. That's twice as many as one, for those of you keeping count. Um, there is still just one of me folks. I'm not multiplying. Only two hands and two legs and one chicken-fried brain. Yes, I have Nelson, but the guy is gone 12 hours a day for five days a week. Just imagining it makes my head spin.
Since I'm being honest here, I have to say, most days I feel like I barely cope with Oscar. I know it's a lot to do with my being pregnant and unable to interact with him as well and having a very short fuse these days, but even still. Toddlers are hard, significantly harder than a newborn. Newborns mostly just sit there in your arms or the swing and you feed and change them every few hours and yeah, it's a lot of work. But toddlers spend roughly 50 percent of their time trying to kill themselves and 50 percent of their time driving their parents insane. Constant rescuing and attempts to preserve ones sanity are way more difficult than a dozen dirty diapers a day. I can even imagine doing it all at once.
But, I'm starting to get sore. Not just my back, but my legs and my feet and my knees. I've already put on an extra 10lbs with this kid than I did with Oscar and my body is paying the price. I want to walk without waddling. I want to meet this baby, the one does the one legged tap dance on my cervix and punches me in the diaphragm 50 million times a day. I want to smell that new baby smell and snuggle a soft little head and marvel at teeny, tiny toes. I want to wrap it's little bottom in those itty bitty N sized diapers. Le sigh.
So, yeah. I'm mostly okay that I'm still pregnant. Except when I'm not. A walking, talking contradiction.