It’s 11:22 a.m.
If all goes well and some moron doesn’t set themselves on fire or blow off any of their fingers “celebrating” Labor Day weekend, by this time next week we will be a family of four. I could be in my room eating a post surgery meal and basking in the love of my three guys.
I’m still in shock that we are so close to the end.
I’m also completely unprepared when it comes to having “stuff” for the baby.
I have my boobs.
I have a pack of diapers.
I have some clothes.
That’s good enough, right?
Speaking of boobs, I wrote a letter to mine this week. I also discussed whether or not a porn star should be able to breastfeed in public.
I probably won’t get that pregnancy massage but I will be in for one as soon as I can after giving birth. Along with some new tattoos.
The hospital I’m delivering at has a kick-ass cafeteria. That may be what I’m looking most forward to during my hospital stay. Well, besides the baby of course.
I wonder if they could send wine in one of these care packages?
And these? These make me think I should get to designing some birth announcements sooner than later.
Oh, and since some of you have asked, yes we have a very small registry.
Pooping on the table.
Having to get an epidural.
Those were the two things I feared the most when I headed to the hospital four and a half years ago to give birth to G-tot. After 20+ hours of labor the doctor’s strongly suggested an epidural—which I succumbed to after a mini-nervous breakdown.
A few hours later I still hadn’t progressed enough to push so we went the c-section route. Plus side? No pooping on the table.
I’m nine days away from having another c-section. NINE DAYS. Single digits.
This time I’m scared to leave G-tot behind.
Just thinking about leaving him sleeping in bed early in the morning on September 4th brings tears to my eyes. I know he will be in great hands. I know I will see him as soon as I can. And yet, it won’t be quite the same. I will be coming out of major surgery. He won’t be able to climb up on me and snuggle quite like we will on Saturday night. We will no longer be a family of three.
It will be the end of one chapter of our lives and the beginning of something completely new and unknown. For some reason that makes me weep.
Over the past year and a half I doubted we would ever get to this point. I wasn’t sure I would ever be able to give G-tot a sibling. A comrade. Someone to vent about his dad and me to in years to come.
Now we are just nine days away.
I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around it.
I don’t want to stay in the hospital for days this time. I want to leave as soon as possible and be with my family in our own home. I want to start our new life away from IVs and nurses. I want to create our new routine.
I want G-tot to know I will never love him any less than I do in this moment.
I want to not be scared of the next nine days.
I could probably count on one hand the number of times my son has slept in his own bed in the last two or so months—with fingers left over.
It’s not that he won’t, it’s just that we don’t.
We are co-sleepers.
Co-sleeping wasn’t something we planned on doing but rather something that just sort of happened over the last few months. G-tot would climb into our bed in the evening for our nightly story time ritual. After three or four books he would snuggle up to next to me and fall asleep. Do you know how wonderful it is to have your four year old nuzzle into you and drift off to sleep?
Those moments won’t last forever so I would never stop him from doing it.
Early on I would carry my son to his room and tuck him into his bed. In June I was diagnosed with Complete Placenta Previa and unable to lift anything over 10 pounds—including my son. So instead of taking him to bed he slept next to me right on his dad’s pillow.
My husband JQ keeps a much later schedule than we do and I liked having G-tot next to me. When JQ would come to bed hours later he could move G-tot to his own bed if he wanted to. But he didn’t.
Do you know why?
Because JQ wanted to snuggle with G-tot too. He loves those moments as much as I do. So instead of moving him to his own room, JQ would slide G-tot over and crawl in bed next to the two of us. And there the three of us would sleep in our queen size bed. More often than not JQ and I would have little limbs draped across us or end up with just a sliver of the bed to call our own space by morning.
For the most part that has become our routine over the last couple of months.
Does it have to be? No. My Placenta Previa went away and all my restrictions have been removed. I can pick up my son again. I could take him to his bedroom. We could do story time in his room if we really wanted to. JQ could move him at night. But we don’t.
Right now, we are co-sleepers.
“It’s for the baby.”, G-tot declared as he put the sticker on the ever expanding belly of my dress.
Man do I love that boy. Every night and every morning his little hands push around on my belly feeling for Huggy Baby. He hugs my belly and talks to the baby—sometimes really loudly. He is going to such an awesome big brother.
We’ve been reading books together that have to do with bringing another baby into the family. They are sweet and endearing and will often invoke a wide-eyed look from G-tot when we get to the end. As if he is thinking, Hey, that’s going to be me soon.
G-tot has officially decided that he wants the baby to share a room with him. I am constantly humbled by how unselfish this child is that I’m raising. When he outgrows something the first words out of his mouth anymore are, “We can keep this for my baby.”
His baby. Swoon.
I hope his little brother realizes how lucky he is to have G-tot in his life. I know I am.
I bought this sun hat last week and it is smokin’ hot. I’m not much of a hat wearer usually but this thing? I. AM. GORGEOUS in it. I feel totally debonair wearing it and am going to rock the shit out of that hat at the beach this summer.
You will all want me.
And not just me. My entire family.
Because it was just too awesome for everybody to not get in on the action.
He could not have picked a better card this year.
Even more charming is the fact that he forgot to write “Day” and and just wrote “Happy Mother’s Love, Gideon”.
I love that kid.
This week’s Weekly Winners set just happens to be of two subjects both beginning with the letter E—Easter and my husband’s band the Eight Fifteens.
Exploring His Basket of Goodies
Egg Hunt Excitement
The Eight Fifteens
Overcome with snot and the general desire to chop my head off with a hatchet in an effort to feel better, I sent JQ and G-tot to the store yesterday to pick up some medicine. I was in the bedroom when they returned and when I turned around there was G-tot with the medicine and a box of saltines.
I asked him what the crackers were for and he told me that he alone had picked them out special for me “too make you feel better”.
I love that kid.
We are finally starting to see temperatures in Toledo that allow us to hit the parks without having to layer on heavy coats, scarves, hats, and gloves. It is glorious. Spring is one of my favorite times of year—the renewal of life and the awakening of all that was under that heavy slumber of snow and cold for so long. So when we saw temps in the 50s and above we were outside basking in the sun.
First ride of the year.
It was a little windy.
And I was wearing a dress.
Half the playground was under water.
But that didn’t stop us from having fun.
It’s just the beginning.
Eight years ago today I married my best friend.
I would do it again in a heartbeat.
Happy Anniversary JQ. I love ya babe.