Stuff my son says

Jacob: "Mommy, where was I when you were 3 years old?"
Mommy: "You didn't exist yet!"
Jacob: "Was I in your tummy?"
Mommy: "No - you were nowhere...you weren't alive yet!"
Jacob: "But where was I??"
Mommy (at a loss): "Um, you were with God."
PAUSE
Jacob: "Is God a babysitter?"

Stuff my son says

Mommy: "But I thought you didn't like dinosaurs, Jacob"
Jacob: "I like them when they're happy."

Stuff my son says

When they got to chapter 3 in his bedtime book...

Jacob: "Daddy, where's my 3?"
Daddy: "What? Because you're 3 years old? That's just how old you are."
Jacob: "So is the 3 inside of my body?"

Fascinating.

Stuff my son says

Here's a peek into what my 3-year old believes only adults are allowed to do:
"When I get older like Daddy, I'm going to drive a boat and eat pickles."

Growing pains

I know I've made mistakes in the two years and eight months that I've been a mother, but I'm in a new zone now - a tricky time when it feels like the repercussions of my actions and decisions can have long-term consequences. Though he can't articulate his feelings, my Jacob is keenly aware that life is about to change for him in a major way. He's been acting up, working to rule, and crumbling into a mommy-stay-in-my-room-forever mess each night at bedtime. Making matters more difficult (there's always something, no?), I threw my lower back out a couple of days ago (perhaps early signs of labour?) and haven't been able to be myself with Jacob since then. Tonight, the pain was so bad that I couldn't handle the emotional outbursts and cuddle demands that have become the norm with my toddler as of late. I behaved badly and raised my voice at him out of desperation, believing that somehow he would mature 10 years in that instant to understand why mommy just needed to lie down right now. Of course, yelling at him only made the situation worse (obviously). For some reason, I think I decided at some point that it would be better to get him used to mommy being around less often in the few days before he becomes a big brother. It hit me all of a sudden though, that I couldn't have gotten it more wrong. When I'm recovering from major surgery with a newborn in my arms is when life will teach him the things it needs to teach him. What I need to be doing now is pushing through everything to give him as much of myself as I can. Pain or no pain, immobility or not, I'm his mommy and he needs me now more than ever. I got a grip, swallowed my pain and general inability to move as a massive pregnant woman about to burst, and knelt down at his bed to talk and hug and cuddle. That's all it took for him to become a little ball of sunshine, adorable enough to devour. He asked me to please not yell at him next time, at which point I swallowed back an ocean of tears, which erupted when I left his room and only recently subsided. Lesson learned: as a mom, always err on the side of giving too much of yourself rather than suffering the regret of not having given enough.

WAAAH.

HELLO BLOG!

It's been a while, I know.  I've been gestating a human for the past 32 weeks and also started working full time right around when said human was conceived... so I've been a much, much busier version of myself than usual.  Busier, in fact, than I've ever had the pleasure (if you can call it that) of being.

The first 28 weeks of this pregnancy went so well that the time just flew right by.  Without the strange aches, stretching, and tugging that I remember from being pregnant with Jacob (not to mention the insanely rare diagnosis of Pseudotumour Cerebri that left me wondering on a daily basis if today would be my last day living with the gift of sight), this pregnancy was a breeze.

Since then, though, things have steadily been getting tougher.  It all started with a cold.  We all get colds; they suck.  This cold, though, was ugly, and eerily tenacious.  After three weeks of continuous and unabating symptoms, it showed no signs of easing up.  My colleagues have taken to calling me "Patient X", blaming me for the gradual demise of everyone around the office over the month of February.  And they're probably right.  The virus has found a host that won't kill it (that would be me - thanks, pregnant immune system) and it's having a blast.  I'm now entering week 4 with this bug.  I'm starting to think I should give it a name.  And no, it's not an infection that can be treated with antibiotics - that much has been confirmed by several doctors.

This all would have been exhausting enough, except that my prolonged, violent coughing actually caused me to fracture a rib several days ago, launching me into a world of pain that I can only compare to what I imagine it might feel like to be impaled by the horn of an angry wild animal.  Normally, the highest caliber of pain killers and cough suppressants would take care of the situation, let me get some sleep, and gradually recover.  Of course, those are off limits to me while I'm pregnant.  Shifting in my sleep is excruciating, breathing deeply is out of the question... and I don't think I need to explain the desperate agony of coughing.  It's been character building.

Here's to hoping these issues resolve themselves over the 8 weeks I have left to go before baby is born.  It would be nice to enjoy some restful nights before what I already know is going to be an exhausting (but wonderful) year ahead.