I mailed out close to 800 busy bags yesterday. Once I got over the initial shock that the boxes I had asked $5 for return postage were going to cost me from $12-$20 each to send, I breathed an enormous sigh of relief that I actually managed to get them done. Renee has played with a few of the bags and she LOVED them. I'm excited for everyone to get them and to hear how their kids do with them. I was up with contractions all night long a few nights ago and was starting to seriously worry that my dining room would be covered in busy bags forever because I was certain I was going to go into labor before I got a chance to mail them out.
That isn't the case. I'm still pregnant. Hugely pregnant. Wearing my husband's shirts and cringing when I get a glimpse of myself in the mirror pregnant.
My friend Heather has been insistent on taking some maternity pictures of me before this baby comes and I have given every excuse in the book. The first being that I just don't feel or look at all cute, followed promptly by I'm just too effing busy to do anything except survive. But, I am going tomorrow morning and I'm going to own my fat face and my enormous, three times stretched to an oblivion baby belly. Because this really is it. These kicks to the pelvic bone that knock me off of my feet are the last painful baby kicks I'm ever going to feel. And I'm sure someday I'll even look back fondly on my three chins.
The baby has dropped, of that I'm certain. The heart burn has turned into pelvic pain. I honestly feel like he could fall right out at any moment when I'm walking down the street. I got the project I've been working on at work for the last five years done, saw my mom through a minor surgery and now I just have to throw a 3rd Birthday Party for my first son next weekend and after that, #3 is absolutely welcome to fall on out of there anytime. I mean, as long as someone is there to catch him.
Dear son, could we go into labor mid-day instead of the middle of the night crap your brother and sister pulled? Just once, I'd like to show up to L&D with a husband with the other kids at daycare and not racing around in the middle of the night waking up all of my friends and starting the whole birthing process exhausted. Work with me here, OK? Please?
I'd ask you to sleep through the night on our first night together and to try not to shred my nipples too bad when you're learning how to nurse but after the other two, I know those are unrealistic expectations. All I'm asking for at this point is morning or mid-day start to labor and for you to come out healthy and happy. After that, well, we'll make it work.
And if you do, by some act of God, manage to sleep and eat like a good little boy, I'll promise to buy you a pony. That your brother and sister won't be allowed to ride.