I once worked with a girl who was very nice and was also overweight. She told me a story of her nephew who once said to her, "Aunt Sarah, you're fat." The precious child's mother turned to him and in a tone that can only be described as rage mixed with utter embarrassment said, "Johnny, that is not nice. You do not say things like that."
The cherub faced tot retracted his statement by saying, "Sorry...you're big."
I feel big. Very very big. The sweet and sour chicken with a birthday cake chaser I just snarfed down is not helping matters.
But when you produce cuties like this, I think it is worth the figure sacrifice.
Today I am 23 weeks pregnant and I am scheduled to have a c-section at 39 weeks. This means I have about 16 weeks left until I meet my little lady.
At my doctor appointment on Tuesday my doc asked if the baby's room was ready. I confessed that I had not done anything. Nothing. Not a darn thing in preparation for Peyton.
She said, "NNNIIIkkkkiii! Your time is running out and you're only going to get more tired as the due date gets closer." In her defense, she was saying this in a joking manner. But it got me thinking, perhaps I should do some-thing to get ready for her, aside from buying a Batman onsie and curtains.
This morning, I dropped Pman off at school, did my 45 minute trudge on the treadmill then I came home and went through Parker's baby clothes.
Bad idea for a 23 week pregnant lady.
Josh and I have always seen ourselves as a family with 3 children, perhaps 4 (that's another story for another blog). We have also talked seriously about adopting an older child at some point, that would be included in the 3 or 4 not in addition to, we are not that crazy.
Since we have one healthy biological son and will soon have one healthy biological daughter, we have seriously discussed the possibility of not having a third biological child.
So as my due date gets closer, I know there is about a strong chance this is my last pregnancy.
Some of my friends are on their second pregnancy and know this is it, they are done. However, neither J or I are willing to commit to saying, "This is it." or, "We want one more biological child."
I spent the morning sitting on the floor of what will be Peyton's room, sifting through Pman's infant clothes. As I put aside the pieces that cannot be transferred to Baby Girl P, because they are simply too boy, I got teary remembering the little baby Parker.
I remember buying some of those outfits when I was pregnant with him. I could not wait to see my little bean in this one pair of frog overalls. They have now been banished to the "boys clothes" pile, placed in a bag and stored in the spare closet. There is something bittersweet about seeing clothes shift from too big to too small.
How can I ever get rid of these things?
I pulled out the outfit he came home from the hospital in, his Pman costume and a few other things that are special to his first couple years. Items that could not be handed down to any one because they are purely Parker's. I know I will keep these things for as long as I can keep track of them and I know they will not mean as much to anyone else as they mean to me.
This process has me thinking, what if we don't have any more babies? I know it is not really the clothes I am going to miss, it's that the clothes remind me of how much my SweetP has grown. I also know that when Peyton comes and I have her to compare him to, he is going to seem like a such a big boy.
It both breaks my heart and makes it soar.
Is this just pregnancy hormones? (maybe a little)
On a more productive note, I picked the room colors. Now to get the colors on the walls...