Sunday, August 4, 2013

Waiting for a second baby to finish on the inside is way harder than waiting for a first. I realize now how very much nothing I did during the end of my inaugural pregnancy, other than the occasional 8 mile traipse around town for treats and fellowship (which somehow happened the day before I gave birth, possibly prompting it). These days, if I walk the ten minutes to and then back home from E-Mart, I know I will be out of commission for at least a day. It ruins my back and makes changing positions an entire ordeal. Going to the doctor via subway the other day was a feat of strength. And, of course, it's a lot to be up and down with Joash all day.

Beyond that, I feel and look like a sumo wrestler, especially when I wear a high summer bun, so, every day then. And this time I feel all the Braxton Hicks, and I feel like they are happening non-stop, and, because last time I felt nothing until after my water broke, it has often tricked me into thinking labor nearer than it proves to be. Also, I'm nervous we won't make it in time. I've heard too many recent stories of one hour births, and people who've had long births maybe think that sounds nice, but I think we who've had short births know it's sort of terrifying and all too intense to be condensed into an hour. Every time I pack away as settled something I was nervous about, I find a new thing to take its place.

I don't have time to reflect as rhapsodically on this pregnancy. I really enjoyed my time with Joah in my belly, and I lamented to Dan at the end the loss of that. Now I just want to be done. With the swollen legs and puffy face, with the acid in my throat and the acid on my grumpy tongue, with the rough feet and the endless itchiness, with the protruding barrier between me and my other family members. I often feel like I'm somehow failing at all aspects of baby growing. We've had the most minor of complications, but they make me feel responsible (and thereby irresponsible), and I even feel like it's something I'm doing wrong that's keeping her in there, as if I'm being punished for my bad attitude, as if a baby growing to term has anything to do with the whims of its mother.

By now, I'm just hoping this girl comes out without any bruises from the constant knocking she gets from her big brother. I am able to sympathize so well, now, with my wombed self. I'm sure I took plenty of accidental blunt traumas from my own big brother in those days.

Let's just all agree that tomorrow is the day, and then tomorrow will be the day. But, before then, two videos and a picture.

On the Phone from serenity johnson on Vimeo.
Dan called to solidify dinner plans one night, and Joash took the phone and paced the apartment with it. I show little of the pacing because, also that night, Joash had chosen to be naked in the nethers.

Puzzling from serenity johnson on Vimeo.
He puts his puzzles together wrong now because he thinks it's pretty clever. He's not wrong.

Last night, an early wakeup and several night wakings necessitated an early bedtime, so there was still enough light out for a picture when Dan was putting him down. He's been waking up sort of regularly at night lately. I don't know if it's because it's disgustingly hot (and damp and disgusting and hot) or if it has something to do with my constant trips to the bathroom across from his room or if it's just developmental. Maybe it's teeth? Maybe it's everything. Maybe he just knows a baby's about to come wreck his life but hopefully eventually for the better.

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