I’m pregnant! Not that “ooh, you have a wondrous glow about you” or that “you look so happy” kind of pregnant, but that “driving by the KFC and having to pull over to puke because the smell of fried chicken makes me nauseous” kind of pregnant. I’m trying to be a trooper, but this light-headedness, low blood pressure, and inability to keep anything on my stomach is really starting to drive me nuts. Call me crazy, but I did wish that I was Kate Middleton there for a minute, dreaming that someone would take pity on my sorry prenatal existence and check me into a hospital for a little rest and relaxation, pampering, and IV pumping. No such luck! I’m working 10-12 hours a day, spending an extra three hours round trip in traffic, and pretending that while my breakfast is making an unpleasant but expected appearance back up my esophagus that I’m all right and able to function as normal.
I can honestly say that being pregnant has never, nor is it now, fun for me. On the weekends, when I’m supposed to be spending quality time with my kids, I’m laying on the bed, on my left side, snoring like I haven’t slept in years. My kids are running through the house nearly naked, playing with things that in my less than pregnant days I would not have forgotten to hide or keep out of reach. Permanent marker dons walls and duct tape makes strange bandanas that are hell to extract from the curly locks atop little girls’ heads. I’ve lost eight pounds in the last four weeks, but my waist line still begs for maternity wear!
The best part of my day is when the Princess and the Pirate decide that they must interact with their little brother or sister for a few minutes.
“I hear the baby crying,” explains the Pirate as she extends nearly four-year-old hands toward my belly.
“No, you don’t,” I insist, ignoring the fact that I’m supposed to be indulging her for the moment.
“I do,” she says, pressing her ear hard on my stomach.
“Okay,” I giggled, allowing her a big sister nurturing moment.
“Mommy, do you think the baby needs a hug?” questioned the Princess.
“Yes, I do.”
The Princess put a hand on each side of my belly and laid her head carefully on my stomach, squeezing ever so slightly.
“Do you think the baby liked that?”
“No, I think the baby loved that!” I exclaimed.
Never to be outdone, the Pirate asks, “Does my baby need a kiss?”
“I think so.”
Puckered lips, smelling like the candy she wasn’t supposed to eat, glide toward my belly. Then her head slams hard into my stomach for a “big kiss.”
“Did the baby like that?”
“Um, I think the baby loved the kiss but the head butt may have hurt a bit.”
“Oh, sorry, baby.” Her apology was accompanied by an obligatory tummy pat.
“Mommy?” started the Princess. “What is the baby’s name?”
“I don’t know. What do you think?”
“If it’s a girl, I like Feta.”
“What? That’s the name of cheese!” Both girls giggle with delight. “I am not naming my baby ‘Cheese!’” At that, they laugh loudly and hard.
Catching her breath and adopting a most serious composure. “No, Mommy. ‘Cheese’ is silly. I have a name.”
“Okay, lay it on me.”
“Baby Jesus,” she says, smiling a contented and proud smile.
“Baby Jesus, huh? Do you think that will work?”
“Yes, if it’s a brother.”
“Well, what if it’s a sister?”
“Mary and Martha from the Bible book.”
“Mary or Martha?”
“No, ‘Mary and Martha from the Bible book’ Mommy.”
“You want all of that for the name.”
“Yes, that is so cute!”
Well, I guess I have three names to consider.