I'm OK with The Lad being my last baby. There was a time, right after The Boy was born, when I declared myself a pregnancy savant and demanded babies! More babies! The husband, to his credit, didn't run away or crush my hormone-addled dreams. He didn't have to because reality set in and I realized dozens of colicky babies would be expensive, loud and overwhelming in our little house. Two kids is a good number. I'm content being a family of four.
But the thought of never again feeling a baby dig his toes into my ribs does make me a bit wistful. So, I've been trying to think of things about pregnancy that irritate me. Here's what I've got so far:
- Everyone thinks your belly is their business. The touching (without asking). The comments. The (unasked for) advice. UGH. I had a woman tell me today I was obviously having a boy because I "had no fanny." Unnecessary.
- The belly makes toddler wrangling difficult. Getting The Boy into his carseat this morning left us both sweaty, disheveled and pissed off.
- Round ligament pain. The first time, I thought I -- or the baby -- was dying. I know what it is this time, but it still hurts. (Especially when it wakes you up at 4:44 a.m. and you're unable to get back to sleep -- just sayin'.)
- No Nyquil. No whiskey-laced hot toddies. I believe in natural remedies and prevention, but when I get sick -- really sick -- I just want something to knock me the hell out at night.
- My bellybutton will never be the same. Sad but true.