I am officially 32 weeks pregnant. Which means I only have 8 weeks (or if my Pregnancy Calendar Web site is correct, 53 days) left in this pregnancy. And according to the Parents.com Web site, this is an important week:
Almost all babies born at this stage or later survive and go on to have very healthy, normal lives. By this time all of his major organs are fully functioning except the lungs, which need just a bit more time to mature completely. This week your baby will also start to shed that downy hair (lanugo) that’s covered his body for the past few months. He’ll lose most of this fuzzy coating by the time he’s born, but you may spot some errant hairs on his back or shoulders.
So … yeah … everything’s fully functional “except the lungs” … not that those are important. I’m thinking I’ll keep her in the oven awhile longer. (Not that I have a choice, but still — I’ve got goals for this kid. Fully-functioning lungs just happen to be one of them.)
Only two months left. Where did the time go? How the heck am I going to juggle two kids that are younger than 2 at the same time?
And what is this only two months thinking? It feels like it will take FOREVER for December to get here. Except that in my brain, its still early October, when we’re actually more than halfway through it. I say again: Where did the time go?
I’ve come to the conclusion that even if you’ve done everything to prepare (nursery done and stocked? Yup!), and even if this isn’t your first rodeo, you are never fully ready/prepared. Its impossible. You may think that you’re prepared, like I thought the first time around. I look back on that confident, take on the world demeanor and say: HAH. I’m calling bullshit.
Reality is always different than theory. Often in surprising ways. I thought I was prepared for the complete upheaval caused by a small child. While I may have had all the gear and supplies I needed, I wasn’t prepared for the post-partum roller coaster. I totally wasn’t ready for a baby with health issues. (Nobody is, and it sucks. I’ll leave it at that.)
I wasn’t ready for my boobs to turn into torpedoes once my milk came in. (Warning: Boob tangent!) I wasn’t ready to be worried about said boobs popping from the pressure within. Nobody had warned me about that. Saying that the milk coming in can be “uncomfortable”? Yeah, thanks for that. I went from a mid-B cup to a C+ cup overnight. The skin was stretched taught. You could push down on my skin, and there was no give. I had bush-woman nipples that were so huge they scared me. They weren’t boobs anymore — they were milk jugs. Literally.
I remember looking in the mirror and saying: Dude, those are NOT my boobs. WTF. I remember Hubbs looking at them and saying: DAMN, baby! Woohoo! And then I slapped his hand and threatened to kill him if he even looked at them like he wanted to touch. And nearly a year later, said boobie awesomeness went away. Well, that’s not technically correct. All that big boobie awesomeness DEFLATED. Yeah, I said it. Before I got knocked up again they were smaller than when I started. Not exactly a good thing for the self-esteem when you were small-chested to begin with. (Note to self: Get some chicken cutlets or new Wonderbras after Peanut weans.)
Another thing I wasn’t ready for: The tidal wave of love you feel when you see your baby. When you hold them. When you hear them. When they look at you. There is absolutely nothing in this world like it. And once they’re bigger? Ask Hubbs how he feels when he walks into a room and hears “Da-Da!!” and sees a small child running across the room laughing and smiling with his arms spread wide, wanting hugs. Ask me how I feel when Sean snuggles close to me in the chair, puts his hands against my face, and presses his cheek to mine while he whispers “Mama.”
It turns your day around in a heartbeat. It cures what ails you. It fills your soul to the brim.
So while I know I won’t be prepared for looking after two young kids at once, there is one thing I am positive about: I’ve got enough love for the both of them. What else do you really need?