It's a Boy!

We're thrilled! Perhaps I had a twinge of disappointment thinking that this is my last child and I'll never have a daughter, but overall, I'm elated. I really can't imagine Brendan with a sister, but totally see him with a brother. And as I said before, I never saw myself with daughters, but with sons. I'm pretty happy.

Happier still that the doctor said that the baby looks "magnificently healthy!" She examined everything via ultrasound in great detail. I got a little concerned because both the doctor and the ultrasound technician focused in great detail on the heart, looking at it closeup and watching the bloodflow. Freaked me out a bit, but the doctor assured us it looked healthy. No markers for any chromosomal problems that she could see. Measuring almost a week larger than he should be, but not so much they were worried.

Bottom line, we're having another son and I couldn't be happier.

The Waiting is the Hardest Part

In just a few hours I'm going in for a Level II ultrasound. Obviously, we are hopeful that the scan reveals nothing other than a healthy, growing baby. Still, I can't help feeling nervous. We went through the same test with Brendan due to my previous miscarriage that resulted from the baby's chromosomal abnormality, trisomy 8.

So, on pins and needles we sat (or laid, in my case) in the exam room while the ultrasound tech and the perinatologist did their thing until they finally told us we had a very healthy looking baby. Then they told us it was a boy. Of course, we were thrilled. Both by the good news on the health front and by his gender.

I had always seen myself as the mother of boys. I never really imagined having girl children. Obviously, I knew it was a possibility, but when I saw myself as a mom, it was as a mom to boys, doing fun boys stuff like shooting hoops and playing chase and baking cookies endlessly for them and their friends.

At some point, prior to that ultrasound, I thought it might be a good idea to not know the child's sex. To fall in love with a human being rather than a boy or girl. But, you get five months to work on that before you find out, I suppose. And for me, everything changed on learning that little babe growing inside me was a boy.

I think part of my nervous anticipation today is in regard to whether I carry a boy or girl child. Of course it is. I have waffled these entire twenty weeks, first wanting a brother for Brendan, then a daughter for myself. Now, I've just settled on healthy. Boy or girl. I still don't have a clue what you're supposed to do with a daughter. Zero interest in Barbie, princesses, brushing someone else's hair, teaching someone to sit with her legs closed, prepubescent and teenage hormones, or slumber parties with a gaggle of giggling girls. I don't know what I will do with a girl, but I guess I'll figure it out. One thing's for sure, I can always pressure her to attend my alma mater.

All I know is that he or she, I will love this little person with all my heart. I've been terrified since before I got pregnant that I could never love another child as much as I love Brendan. I've been surprised (pleasantly, I should add) to find the love in my heart growing. And I'm sure that just as my love for Scott has grown stronger and deeper and more passionate as I have watched him be a father to our son, that my love for Brendan will change and grow as I see him become a big brother.

Now, in these last few hours, I think I will simply enjoy loving this little being with no judgments, no preconceived notions, no desires of my own for what he or she might be some day. Just love him or her for the perfect creation he or she is.

Mean Low Pregnancy Blues

I loved being pregnant with Brendan. My morning sickness was mild. I had just been laid off my job, so all I had to do was keep house and read and relax and enjoy being pregnant.

This pregnancy is so different. The morning sickness was miserable. I had to start wearing maternity clothes at 8 weeks. And now, I'm emotional. Crazy emotional. Clueless. And clumsy. Not in the "your center of gravity has changed so you fall down a lot way," but in the "drop everything you pick up, close your hand in the door" kind of way.

I can't think straight. I'm confused. I'm so moody. I cried today because another kid didn't want to play with Brendan. I cried because I thought about how disappointed Brendan will be if we have a girl and how it would be so sad if he never gets to have a brother. I cried because when I told Scott that I was having round ligament pain he commented that not only was I getting stretched, but that it was happening in a different way than before. Those are just the instances I remember. There were probably others.

I just don't remember being this moody and emotional the last time. I was like this for weeks post-partum, but not during the actual pregnancy. It's damned annoying.

The thing I hate most is when I feel like everything is closing in on me and I lash out in anger. On Sunday I completely lost my temper with Scott and yelled at him. I never yell at my husband. We may have disagreements, but we've always been able to talk without raised voices or anger. And the thing that pushed me over the edge? His cleaning up the mess in our freezer where a Coke exploded after I left it in there too long. I put it in to get cold and totally forgot about it. Came back a few hours later and found the mess, but didn't have time to clean it. When Scott saw it, he immediately started cleaning it up. I yelled at him angrily, asking him what he thought he was doing. His response was, "Cleaning up your mess."

Of course, that's exactly why I was angry. I felt guilty about making the mess and didn't want him to do my dirty work. And it would have been so simple to say that in a nice way. Instead, I told him he was making a bigger mess by getting it on the floor I had just mopped. Of course, he was planning to clean it up, but I was being a bitch for no reason. And I hate that. It's so not who I am.

I hope this emotional roller coaster slows down soon so I can climb off. In the meantime, I guess I need to figure out when to just step away and keep my mouth shut.

Easier said than done, apparently.

Am I Expecting Too Much

For a while I was really judgmental about the use of poor grammar. Now, I've simply come to accept that no one cares. I've even started to allow myself to be amused by common mistakes.

While browsing craigslist.org this weekend in search of a bed for Brendan, I found some amusing examples of folks misusing words. More likely they've been hearing these things incorrectly their whole lives and don't know any better. Still, I thought they were pretty cute.

There was a lady selling a "chester" drawers and if you wanted, there was a man, in my town no less, selling "wingbat" chairs. Crazy!

Just now on a babycenter.com message board I saw someone saying that our job as parents is to teach our children how to be "ladys" and "gentlymen."

I know I make my fair share of typos and occasionally get careless. I even have a few mistakes ingrained in my brain because of poor teaching. My third-grade teacher taught the class that there are two spellings for "separate." She said "separate" was the spelling for the verb meaning to divide things, but if you wanted to use the word as an adjective meaning things that were not together, the spelling was "seperate." I still have to think about how to spell "separate" every single time I want to use it.

So, I don't really blame anyone for their mistakes anymore. But I do find them amusing.

And Now for Something Completely...Weird

This morning I got up and did a few chores like ironing before getting dressed. By then, Brendan was awake and running around. He came into our bedroom while I was changing out of my pjs into yoga pants and asked what I was doing. I told him and then he said, "Mommy! You can't do that. The baby might fall out."

Uh. Okay. Thanks for the warning, weird kid.

Where on earth did he come up with such a notion? We haven't told him anything more than "there's a baby growing inside mommy's tummy." The end. Certainly we've told him no details about how the baby comes out. That's horrific enough for adult minds to comprehend.

I just think it's kind of strange. No stranger, I guess than the fact that he has named his hands. The left one is BoBo and the right one is Lisa. I sometimes overhear him talking to them. Usually correcting them for touching something they're not supposed to touch. Today it was the dog's water bowl.

I hope these are merely signs of a burgeoning creative mind and not signs of something worrisome.

We'll see I guess.