In Which She Finally Comprehends the “Point of No Return”

I was reading ask moxie today and the the topic was parenting two children; this woman who has a 3-year old and a 6-week old is wondering when it’s going to get hard because so far it’s smooth sailing. Hooray for her! I read through all the comments with this giant Eeyore Balloon of dread over my head because everyone’s experience is different and you can be sure if you read 55 accounts of having two children, you will pass over the ones that are delightful and focus on the one where the older brother pushes the younger sister down the stairs while smearing poop on his face. If by “you” you mean “me” and I do.

Then I came across one commenter who mentioned how terrible hard it is to parent a toddler whilst pregnant and I have seen recent evidence of this at Her Bad Mother as well so praise be, it’s not just me, but what the woman in the comments said that gave me pause was: Well, I’ve heard it’s easier to take care of a newborn and a toddler than be pregnant and look after a toddler, so at least things will get better.

My brain has seized on this. Is it true? Could it PLEASE be true? I think I will believe that it is true! Yes! That’s what I’ll do, I’ll just BELIEVE some random stranger’s “I heard” that was probably gathered by talking to the old biddies at her baby shower who also predicted she is having a girl/boy because she is round/pointy/oblong/grumpy/fat/not fat/greasy/purple. YES! I will believe.

I have a friend on facebook who was my best friend in grade 3. She is a lovely woman who has two children of her own, both under the age of 5. She has said to me a couple of times in the past weeks that I should post pictures of myself because I must be so cute and also I must be so excited and wheeeeeeeeee! And I thank her dearly for her confidence and I appreciate – though do not comprehend – that she thinks women my size are cute (perhaps she is still picturing me in grade 3? I was pretty cute in grade 3) but I cannot for the love of all that is sensible understand how she has forgotten how truly, hugely and magnificently it sucks to be in one’s last week or two of pregnancy, no matter how good the preceding 30X weeks have been. It sucks bad when it’s your first child and you don’t even realize how much better it was then until you’re doing it with your second.

So in case anyone is searching, and so that I can read this again if I ever contemplate pregnancy (Insert LOUDEST HA YOU EVER HEARD here) and so that I remember to check my head if I ever so much as present a sweet hand for patting a pregnant woman’s 39 week belly, literally or metaphorically, no matter how good my intentions, here is a brief list of things I can no longer do because I am so damn pregnant.

1. Walk for longer than 20 minutes
2. Sit for longer than 20 minutes
3. Lie in one position for longer than 20 minutes
4. Stand in one position for longer than 5 minutes
5. Bend at the waist
6. Squat or crouch
7. Wear any shoes except the really big ugly ones
8. Wear any underwear except the Old Navy Amazing Lace Maternity Underwear, of which I own 6 pairs and whose Amazing Lace is starting to deteriorate.
9. Wear any clothing comfortably. It is either too tight or too loose.
10. Tolerate the cat.
10 a. At ALL.
10 b. No seriously I am going to kill and skin it.
11. Eat within 1 hour of going to bed. Even ice cream.
12. Roll over. I have to get out of bed and get back in. Luckily I also pee all night long every 2 hours.
12 a. Because my bladder is never truly empty.
12 b. Oh and when I do pee? I have to perch on one butt cheek in order to wipe and often I have to lean against the nearest supporting wall so that I don’t fall off the toilet.
13. See any beauty in this experience at all.

The best parts of my day are as follows:

1. Trombone is really excited to see me every morning.
2. Toast and peanut butter. Can’t live without it.
3. My shower. Even this, during the week, has taken on a dismal pallor as Trombone no longer wants to be in his bedroom while I shower so instead of playing quietly as he did my first week at home, now, when I really need the shower, he hollers, “Mommy daddy trombone! OUT THIS ROOM NOW!” the whole time.

Luckily, I know the cure for all of it (including the slightly desperate #13) is to have this gorgeous baby because the only thing from the above list that won’t change at that point is my feelings towards the catt. And the shoes, which I don’t care about.

I am not thinking about my labour and delivery. I am past caring. I am not thinking about what it will be like to have 2 small children. I am going there, no matter what. Right now I am at the “carve this baby out with a spoon” point that Sarah so eloquently expressed at around this stage in both her pregnancies.

So I am making a positive-thinking leap to the moment when I first see my second-born child. (hopefully she does not have a full set of teeth including one resembling a machete as she did in a recent dream Aiii!) To the early euphoria of post-partum I Can Conquer The World, and even to the ensuing weeks and months where I might be crying all the time and covered in breastmilk and newborn poop (and its crazy stain) but at least I will be able to lie on my back in bed and kneel on the floor to read a story with my son without having to wait for SA to come home and help me up and walk uptown to the Most Depressing Mall in the Universe (arrival at which location is definitely NOT its own reward) without feeling as though my internal organs are trying to break through my pelvis, one jarring footstep at a time.

Right now, I think that would be enough. I know I’m wrong. Just let me believe a little while longer.