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Monday, April 14, 2014

This Killing Time....

Is Killing Me....

(Drinking myself blind.....) Well, no, not really.  Not really into the whole getting smashed thing, even when not growing babies, but the killing time part I TOTALLY get.

Thinking back, this isn't as bad as when I was pregnant with Kyle and stuck in an apartment with no friends, nothing to clean and no hobbies or when Jamie was out to sea for three month stretches and every single day felt like a week, but still....

This sucks.

This is my day.  Wake up.  Try to get out of bed without crying.  I snap, crackle and pop, keep my legs very tightly together and swing them over the side, gently touching my feet to the floor, hoping that TODAY I won't get that sharp shooting pain that feels like I'm the perfect candidate for a lawsuit against Tampax and their faulty "hide your ninja sword in a feminine product" line of products I know they'll market when the world goes all apocalyptic.  (TMI?  Maybe, but you laughed...admit it). I'm sorely (ha, pun intended) pretty much every morning as I rise to my feet, wondering how I have more than one child, then remembering this never happened with the first few.

I waddle to the facilities and wish I had slept just a little longer, but that doesn't happen these days.  It appears my body thinks 6 am is "sleeping in," but honestly once I'm a bit more awake, I'm grateful for the built in quiet.  I hobble my to rocking chair and pick up some knitting and think.  This quiet time is where I plan my day, my week, the stuff I need to do and create a mental (or physical) to do list that mostly doable.  I used to make my to do list at night, but right now, at bedtime, I'm pretty convinced I will never be able to move again, so putting anything on a list seems impossible.  There is fresh hope in the morning that is depleted by the end of the day.

Usually I am milking a goat by 8 am, but today the girls did it, which was nice.  At about 7, I gather what I need from upstairs....school books, any yarn crap not downstairs, some candy (for potty bribes.  We've settled on Dum Dum lollipops.  They are small and do minimal sugar damage...) and anything else I think I'll need and put everything near my little nest on the couch.

And I sit.

For stretches.  And I knit.  And I homeschool and I color, talk, drink coffee, watch videos, change diapers, and read books.  And I get up.  I walk around, I switch laundry, I check lists, and make sure dinner stuff is out and find small 15 minute cleaning tasks I can do, that ONLY I can do and then start the process all over again.

And time tick tocks away.  I talk to Jamie when he can talk and make lists and mentally prepare for all the things coming up.  I am so thankful for the big living room where the littles can happily play beside me and I'm thankful for my older children who can bring things, cook easy food and provide me some pretty good distraction through meaningful conversation.

It takes about two days of "moderation" for me to say "screw moderation" and tackle a project that takes a lot out of me, like cleaning the yard or scrubbing the floor on my hands and knees (okay, not really, more like on my arse, scooting around like a pre-crawling baby, with bowl, sponge and towel)  This morphs into me being up the rest of the day and the next, I pay the price, but even though it HURTS, I am not INJURED, so I just try to keep that in mind.

What does it feel like?  Well...it feels like....you've fallen from a two story building, directly onto a saw horse, with your legs open, your crotch getting the entire impact.  It's the weirdest thing to hurt in a place where you are usually pretty unaware of feeling anything.  Now, when Mr. Baby moves, especially his head, it's like....the Ninja Sword Tampon is doing the Macarena in your nether regions.  On some levels, I want to cry...on others I am just....intrigued by the weirdness of it all.  My back is starting to do that end of pregnancy thing where it starts to spasm at my tailbone and then goes all the way up to my midback and dear Lord, that hurts.  I lay down, I rock, I take baths and do pretty much whatever I can to get as comfortable as possible...but it's pretty much impossible....and I sleep with an obscene amount of pillows tucked all around me.  (I think Jamie is getting jealous of my intimate relationship with my fluffy nighttime companions.)  I swear this is the worst time yet, but Jamie reminds me...it's really not.  I just can't believe I actually felt this before and didn't jump off the roof or perform some sort of sterilization surgery on myself...or something.....Okay, a bit dramatic, but damn.....I did this before?  Really?  Wow.  I am in awe of myself... ;)

But enough of the gloom and doom.  You get it.  This sucks for me.   It's bad.  I don't say that much, or didn't last time, but this time around I'm more like "Well, might as well not pretend..." and I think that comes a little more with age and not giving a crap what people think...because let me tell you what they think "If it's really THAT BAD, why on earth would you do this...why get pregnant KNOWING ....it will be like this at the end."

Good question.  Why do people do ANYTHING?  Why do people kick their own tushes training for marathons?  For mountain climbing?  To get through medical school or perform a recital?  Why does anyone burn the candle at both ends to meet an important deadline or say no to sleep to get a huge task done?  Why do people fight deadly diseases knowing the cure will make them sicker than the disease in the short term?  Because, as Jamie taught me (this lovely phrase....LOVE IT!!)  "The juice is worth the squeeze..."

The end result of the suck is worth the endurance to get through it.  The end result of this particular suck is a human being.  I have approximately six weeks worth of increasingly bad suck to produce another living human.  That' okay with me.  Shoot, you know how many people go through months upon months of sheer agony to get a baby, whether that's through adoption or medical procedures to assist them?  Six weeks is nothing compared to all that (even though it technically does feel like six years....)

So right now we're tick tocking away.  Four weeks (I am thinking closer to three. I've done this a few times and I am pretty sure....I'm a week ahead of where "they" think I am)  Killing time.  Killing yarn (and my next blog post will highlight that. Y'all will think I'm nuts when I show what I finished last week.  I think I set some sort of weird yarn record...)

Besides this, do you know how good it feels when this suck goes away? It's like this lottery winning scenario.  I am handed the sweetest little creature...I can roll over in bed again...and my girly bits don't feel like they've been assaulted and I get that all in ONE DAY.  It's like magic.  It's what I'm looking forward to....what seems like a pipe dream now as I hobble around the house and glare at the chair that Rtwo inches out of place, making my life miserable and picturing myself as a T-rex trying to wipe his own butt when I try to do anything else (Me and switching laundry....there could be a SNL skit on this one simple domestic act.  Did you know it's almost impossible to get all the laundry out of the washer when you're 76 months pregnant???)

For now, I'll play with yarn, watch live streams that teach me stuff and hand my children the digital camera to prove they've done their stuff....

And wait for another day ;)

Tuesday, April 8, 2014

Never Met a Stranger

I'll start this blog with a weird type of confession....whenever I see someone with more kiddos than I have...(Yes, they exist.  I have two friends who just welcomed baby #12 to their families...) I always have this fleeting thought "Wow...wonder what it' like with THAT many people..." like...I don't already know.  Like I don't already have that same dynamic and people don't think that about our family.  You see, more than two seems like a LOT and not just in terms of the practical things like food, clothes and housing, but interaction.  Can you really KNOW that many people as well as you'd want considering what relationship you're forming here....that between a parent and a child?  I asked those questions of myself a million times and to be honest, I still do.  Every little (or big...dude, my son and my 12 year old daughter are now people I look UP to, literally!) person in this house is very well known.  What do I mean?  I mean I know who they are, inside and out.....like I REALLY know them, like you would KNOW your best friend and quite honestly, that's my what children are...my very best friends, although I do realize as the Mom I can't always be the 'buddy...' but true friendship where there is a mutual respect, love and desire for the other's well being.....that's what we have.

But there comes a time in the existence of each of my children when I start to wonder "Will I know you....like I know the others...." That time is now.  I have about five weeks left before I meet this new little guy who is already a part of our family in very practical ways.  He has two baby swings set up, one upstairs and one down and a bassinet (you know, for holding all his clothes and diapers...and the five seconds I'll use it for a bathroom break...)....and a dresser full of clothes and three (or rather 2.5) crochet blankets and paraben free baby soap...He's all around the house.  He has a name.  He has a whole bunch of family action items scheduled around his arrival and a whole welcome wagon ready to greet him on his first day here.  He has a paternity leave approval waiting for his birthday and even "I can knit this totally sleep deprived" projects ready for those first couple weeks when I'll be technically awake, but not...and since I always have yarn in my hands when I'm sitting I'll most certainly be knitting.  He has a Snapfish folder ready for his first pictures, even!!

But then I look at Emory and think....she's the baby.  As I've looked at all my children and thought "You...will be a BIG sibling??? HOW??? You are SO little and so precious and so cute and how on earth could this baby be THE BABY when YOU are THE BABY...."  Then....the new baby comes and all the sudden "the baby" becomes this ginormous, awkward toddler type person who is such a PERSON and is so incredibly ready to jump up a notch on the family ladder....I just didn't see it.  There's never been a displacement because all our children have been adored, cherished and wanted from the very beginning (or before...even when they are a vague idea of maybe, they are wanted).   There's never once been a moment of jealousy because our children know, without a doubt, this baby is OURS.  Not mine.  Not Dad's, but ours.  (Okay, word of wisdom here...if you are reading this and have ever considered a large family or large spacing...be very aware here....the baby is SPOILED.  My older three children practically worship the almost two year old and I did NOT see that coming.  They take her picture more than I do, it seems....record her on their mobile devices and actively seek her out during the day....it's still a bit bizarre for me and I wonder what life is like for her....having all these big people to love on her....She is very, very blessed).

For the past few months, as we've all gathered around as we do in the evenings (Bible study, checking in, lectures, planning meetings...it's necessary) something has felt off.  I look around, tick off that all the kids are here, get to Emory....and feel like someone is just MISSING.  It's the weirdest thing, but I suppose....it's explainable?  I don't know.  I've heard many women just KNOW they were "done"....that their family was complete and I am in awe.  I always wonder what that feels like.  To just know....because I never have.  I honestly have no idea how many children will round out our family and make it complete....or what that even looks like, but the thought that there are still children in our family's story that aren't here yet both intrigues and baffles me.  I think of this new baby, almost here, and think "Wow...another boy.  Will he be like Noah?  Kyle?  Eli? " and "Wow...another one...to teach to read and use the proper receptacle for all things potty...and tie his shoes...." and it just amazes me.  Who will this PERSON be?"  It's just crazy.  I lay awake at night and wonder how I'll feel and if this will be the one baby that I won't KNOW and won't like me and won't have that immediate feeling of "You are mine" with...but after 8 babies...that's never, ever happened.

I always know the baby like I've always known them.  Within a few days it's like I can't remember life without them.  Even though there is plenty of photographic evidence of things we've done before this baby....years and years back....it's like the promise of them has always been there.  That they existed in some way before we even knew they would.  This child, another little incarnation of Jamie and I....isn't strange, or new even...just.....part of us.

As little as they come..as furiously as they arrive, screaming, minutes, then hours old...I can confidently say when it comes to birthing my babies, I've never once met a stranger ;)