Rantings of a Pregnant Woman

Rantings means-Speak or shout at length in a wild, impassioned way.

Did you know? I sure didn't. But when I looked it up to make sure that it was for sure a word, or at least the type of word I was looking for, I learned. So here I go speaking at length in a wild impassioned way...

Is it bad that I keep seeing things like diapers, wipes, and nursing pads, and think, 'oh, yeah. Shoot. I've got to buy those at sometime.'

I felt a lot more on top of that type of thing with my other kids. I'm afraid with this kid I'll be sending Tony from the hospital to pick them up.

I read a thing today that said, "Want to know what having a fourth kid is like? Imagine you are drowning and then someone hands you a baby." I don't think any statement has been more true.

I began making my Christmas list a few days ago. Yeah, I'm that lady. Okay, really, not usually. But Tony usually asks me around the beginning of December what I want for Christmas/my birthday and for months before that I have all these brilliant ideas of things I would like--that would make my life so much better or easier--and then in the heat of the asking moment I can't think of a darn one. So I say lame things like clothes, or the latest dumb movie. So I'm changing it.

One thing on my list is a new bra. I got real excited when I thought of this one because my current favorite bra is fantastic, but like 5 years old, and is slowly losing its "lifting-power." It cost a lot of money, and I thought, 'Sweet, this year I can spend a lot of money again and get a new springy bra!' And then I remembered I would be nursing. Crap. I hate nursing bras.

For Liam and possibly Emma I had some cheapy Walmart nursing bra that did little other than hang there. Poor Tony. Poor all the people that had to see me. When Fox was born I wised up and bought a nice one from Motherhood, but still I hate nursing bras. I want an attractive bra. But I guess this year I'll get a nursing bra and next year a new springy bra.

I read a couple of things yesterday about postpartum. The whole time I did it I thought, 'dang. I remember that.' 'Oh, yeah, you did feel crappy for the first several weeks, shoot.' I probably shouldn't have read it. It's lucky these kids are born so darn cute.

This baby boy is like the thing (alien?) from Alien. I swear he is trying to pop right out the front of my stomach. He is constantly moving...and pushing...and clawing. Today Tony had his hand on my stomach and I said "Do you feel him!?" Tony shook his head. I looked down and replied, "Tony, his foot is pushing out like two inches!" Tony just laughed. Stinkin' tease of a boy. I'll say one thing- This kid is going to come out strong.

I love him though. Already. It's been nice having older kids. I've had more time being able to bond with this baby. I don't have to run around changing diapers or trying to potty train. At times I can just sit down and watch my little alien baby try to escape, then painfully push his appendage back in, or out of my ribs, or away from my poor bloated, pokey-out belly button.