32 Weeks

{A day late, sorry! It was a busy one.}

32 weeks exactly and seeing more of my body in a mirror than I've seen since I first got pregnant.

Another week behind us, and T.Wiz is now the size of a bok choy. Something else I've never eaten.

Cool stuff happening {via BabyCenter}: Not too much excitement. He is spending more of his time sleeping during the day and flip flopping at night, and mostly just working on his weight gain and lung development. With everything already grown in and in proper place, that's all there's left to do!

Mommy feels like: Ready.

Once a week or so, Christian and I will look at the countdown I have on my phone, marvel at the time that has passed, shudder at the days that could be left and ask each other what we need. We are always astounded when we realize that there is not much else we need. 

Is there anything I need for my hospital bag? Is there anything he needs to complete his take home outfit? Any changes I need to make on my birth plan? Anything, anything, anything? 

No. Not really. 

All that's left to assemble is the nurse's thank you basket and we should probably do some laundry. 

The boys are becoming more and more excited, I had apologized to them for being so short tempered lately and explained that I'm feeling so run down and impatient because my body is getting ready to have a Baby. I'm more tired, I'm more irritable, and I lose control of my sanity at this point. They accepted my apology and then we looked at the calendar and the countdown and the days left and they could not contain their joy. 

Now that it is officially spring, we are all itching for the weather to get warmer, all of us are very excited to see this month end and April take its place. Well, almost all of us, I do have a birthday next month, bleh! I believe our Baby will be joining us then. 

And if that's not enough reason for time to take on some speed - Samara will be here in June. We are very much ready for that visit.

There's nothing left to do but wait now. The anticipation isn't killing us, but it is starting to nag a little bit.

Things on the GD diet are going well. Or at least, I'd guess they are. I am still keeping track of how many carbs per meal though I am not bothering to write any of that stuff down unless there's a reason to. I don't feel any different on this diet, sometimes I get agitated that I can't have more of a particular thing, or like now at 4am there's no space for a pre-morning, morning snack, but I'm managing unbelievably well and don't feel a significant change.

I'm totally surprised that I haven't had to go to the hospital recently {oh, just jinxed myself I bet} though the contractions continue to intensify and the pain that comes along with them does too, I have been able to handle them fairly well. Instead of stalling at all, I'll immediately drink more water, and I do not hesitate to rest when I can and I need to - which really makes the biggest difference. No wild superwoman this time around, if I need a break I do not feel guilty taking one and then continuing with the day as soon as I'm able to do so. 

Even my mother noted that I was "well behaved" this pregnancy. Why thank you! :)

I am finding that I need more and more of that downtime as I progress, I am more easily tired out and if there's an extra nap just hanging about, I'll be glad to take it. None of this is abnormal, it is happening much earlier than usual, but I am still holding out hope for 37 weeks at least. Christian, who is oddly observant during my pregnancies, disagrees with me getting to term.

I love that he has his own gut feelings, and I hate to admit that I agree with his disagreement, but I feel like if I keep reiterating "term, term, term, term, term" we'll make it. He is doing everything he can to help us get there, but he definitely points out every change and abnormality with a surprising amount of detail. It's kind of pissing me off. You can't remember that I said I have a teleconference to attend, but you can tell me exactly what I was doing at 32 weeks when I was pregnant with Caesar? The hell, man? :P

I have never been more thankful to have the husband that I do.

Craving: Actually... shockingly. Nothing. :|

Names the children have suggested: Cola, Tornado, Barley, Flower Pot, Samson and Nightcrawler. The last one probably has a chance. 

Alas, 2am Is Not 4am.

For almost a week now, I've been routinely waking at 4 in the morning. Or rather, waking at 3:30 and finally convincing myself to get out of bed at 4.

Just as I suspect the new trend will stick around, I find myself awake at 2am, having only managed a meager 30 minutes of sleep while nursing Severus. To say that I'm exhausted is so cliche' at this stage of pregnancy {and by "pregnancy" I mean "life"}, but the synonyms do not adequately convey just how kaput, wearied, dead tired and enervated I truly am, and so I'll stick with the standby;

I am exhausted.

My patience is thin. My motivation fluctuates incessantly - one moment I'm half dressed and running out the door, the next the desire to leave has waned to nothing. My body aches, from the uncomfortable contractions, the rolling back pain, the Charlie horses... even the tips of my toes tingle with soreness. 

But, I suppose it's just that time.

This part, I never forget. I may eventually forget the ferocity of morning sickness, the round ligament pain, the stuffy nose, but this? The third trimester and every ounce of its glory? Never. These long hours awake, even in varying states of delirium, are enough to recall vividly.

I remember when I was pregnant with Samara, a few weeks further along than I am now, I woke at my usual third trimester time and just wandered from room to room in that small basement apartment that always felt more like a basement and less like an apartment. I went into Samara's nursery and ran my fingers over all the things the "Must Have" lists told me I must have {and she didn't use} and sat on the floor holding one of her stuffed animals, and suddenly wept.

It was then that the year I'd had caught up with me, in January her father and I had started dating, in July we were married, and in December, there I sat heavily pregnant with what was to be our only child together. The weight of my misery crashed over me, I hated being there, I knew I would eventually come to hate being with him, and what kind of mother would I make? It was a dramatic scene. 

J. slept like a rock, before my wandering and ultimate breakdown commenced, I had put in the Sarah McLachlan album that would become the soundtrack to Samara's first year of life, and with each chord softly playing from the living room, I cried harder. 

Three Afterglow rotations later, I finally peeled myself from the floor and fell asleep. We all blamed hormones the next day, crazy pregnant woman, and I was so disheartened I never spoke of it again. Until now, that is. 

I'm grateful that my third trimesters, though entirely familiar, are so very different now. Sure, I still wake at my usual third trimester time, and may even suddenly begin to bawl, but the feelings behind those instances are the complete opposite of what I'd experienced that night.

Yorick would be here. Instead of feeling T. violently kicking at my insides, I would be recovering from surgery with a newborn in my arms whose name very likely would not have been Yorick. I think about that a lot, especially now in the month he was due. And sometimes I sit, heavily pregnant with what will be our last child, and I cry for the son I lost. 

But even then, there is no devastation wracking my soul, just a raw, pitiful and deep sadness, an ache for the what might have beens. Because I know that I will wake up in the morning, and I will tell my husband how I sat here, ate an orange, and cried because I miss the son I will never get to know, and he won't disregard my feelings. I know that I'll wake to at least one of my three sons in my bed, and my daughter on my mind. And I know that in just a few short weeks, we'll be welcoming our last child into our family and my life will be that much more blessed because of him and the star sweeper before him. 

Unlike that night almost ten years ago, I have hope that everything will be just fine. As the third trimester starts to close and birthing my son looms ever so near, I can't sincerely complain about the exhaustion. These hours of reflection and quiet music will always be ones that I appreciate, no matter how seemingly inconvenient they are, and will hopefully remain etched in my memory. 

Because let's face it, soon I'll have five children who steal my food, my gadgets, my beloved pens, and my sanity - I'm going to need something of my own to hang on to.

31 Weeks

Another week out of the way and Raven is now the size of a bunch of asparagus?! I don't know, I didn't make this up.

Cool things happening {via BabyCenter}: We've hit that point in pregnancy progress where what Baby is doing is not so much "cool". He's putting on pounds and his lungs are maturing, though by last week they were at almost optimal function, every minute he spends in the womb helps to ready his body for the outside. He'll continue this until he's born, I don't think there are too many "thrilling milestones" ahead except for that one.

Mommy feels like: No. A lot of no.

No to these horrendous contractions that wake me up in the middle of the night.

No to my neighbors and their ludicrous drum circling for hours at random times of the day.

No to logging my food, and weekly visits to a dietitian - you gave me the tools, the guidelines to follow, I know the risks of not doing so, leave me alone.

No to the people who are just NOW paying attention to the fact that I've been pregnant for 8 months and want me to catch them up on the details.

No to the continous losing of my mucus plug.

No to dumb questions; no OF COURSE I'm not trying to induce labor, I'm NOT TERM YET, no we don't want opinions on the Baby's name and that's exactly why you don't know what it is, no we don't want opinions on his nickname either, no I'm not having another baby, that's why I say "FINAL" pregnancy because it's my LAST, there will be no more. 

No, no, no, no, NO! 

I guess you could say I'm just a little frickin' crabby.

Aside from that though, mostly all is well. 

Baby is active as usual, he is most definitely in head down position. It has been a week on the gestational diabetes regime and I feel like I'm doing well despite almost always going over my limit at dinner time {that's virtually impossible to avoid}. I'm already tired of logging down what I eat, I just want to manage this on my own - especially given that I have to see the dietitian in addition to my OB and I have to report the same stuff to both of them. 

Christian says I've lost weight, and it is a noticeable change, but I swear it's just the Baby dropping. He is incredibly low, the contractions are also lower - pelvic region and my back, when they wake me they are fiery cramps shooting pain through my entire abdomen and finally settling in unmentionable spots. It's excruciating. Luckily though, they are easily manageable with the exception that I have to wake up - a couple of tall glasses of water, relaxing in bed or on the couch downstairs where it's a little cooler, and within two hours they're predominantly tamed. 

I had an appointment scheduled for this past Monday, but when the alarm rang at that terrible hour in the morning my entire body refused to budge. I caught Christian's head cold and now I'm walking into walls kind of messed up, but at least I'm walking which is much more than I can say for Monday. I have been catching up on reading though, and I certainly cannot complain about that.

Craving: Soda. I would hug a stranger for a can of Coca Cola. 

Names the children have suggested: Mr. Funky, Tomato, Thumbtack, Otis, and Ruby.