Home with a Sick Monkey

M had the best night of sleep of her life last night. Then she woke up and nursed, asked for cereal, refused cereal, asked for banana, took one bite, and threw up all over the floor.

A few more pukey episodes and a long morning later, she is napping. She is wearing her snowsuit. Poor baby.

The weather today is the epitome of gray. We have already sent matchbox cars down ramps made of old wooden skis, sorted out the box full of baby outerwear, organized the front closet, drawn on big pieces of paper with purple crayons, read the "Skip to My Lou" book half a dozen times, coaxed the cat into entertaining us by chasing her orange stuffed rabbit, and spent 45 minutes locating each and every dog in the Boden catalog that arrived in the mail.

A couple of months ago I visited a friend who had one of those books of fun activities to do with your toddler. One of the items was, "Get out a box of Kleenex and let your child pull each sheet out. Then put them all in a grocery bag so you can use them later." At the time it seemed ridiculous that this was considered an "activity" at all, let alone something you would look to a book to be inspired to do ... now I'm thinking that it's not a bad idea and I could even use a few more ideas like that.



Lucky. We know we want another child someday. We knew we would probably have to go through some rough times to get one (17 months to get pregnant with M!), and that it might not even be possible for me to get pregnant again. We practically willed M into existence, and now it seems someone else is headed our way pretty much unbidden, just like that. Sweet.

Sad for M
. She has been at the center of our lives for her whole life. Everything is going to shift for her, and she has no control over it, and she isn’t really old enough to understand.

Terrified. M’s infancy was skull-splittingly, brain-meltingly, lie on the floor and drool HARD for me. She nursed constantly and I never figured out how to do anything but sit on the couch while I fed her. She spit up after practically every feeding and I spent months and months wearing the evidence and lacking the energy to clean up the many, many spit up spots on the floor, the furniture, the bed. She had a hard time sleeping and I did not cope well with sleep deprivation. People say you spend the first three months in a fog? I was in that fog for at least six months. Maybe nine. Maybe twelve. I am afraid of doing it again and really can’t imagine how I will get through it and also remain a decent mom to M, who will be two months past her second birthday when the baby comes.

Also, terrified
. I am afraid about the period of sleep deprivation we may be entering (when M’s sleep has FINALLY become somewhat tolerable). About what this (pregnancy plus nursing, which M is still doing pretty often, at least for now) will do to my body. Our marriage. Our lives, all three of us.

Foolish. I knew I was having somewhat regular periods. Well, every 30 to 40 days, which is damn regular for someone who in the past has gone the better part of a year without bleeding. I even kind of suspected I was ovulating. But after all the months of trying to conceive before, it just seemed wrong to use birth control. So we … didn’t. We talked about it and agreed we would be happy to get pregnant “by accident,” but it just seemed so unlikely I don’t think we thought very hard about what it would really mean to get ready for a second child so soon.

Guilty. See Foolish. And Terrified.

Excited. It will be hard, but in my more clear-minded moments I kind of know it will be ok. We have a lot of time to get ourselves ready, and the hard parts will be ok, and about three years from now and maybe sooner it will be GREAT. Last night, my husband said, “I’m so excited that we get to have another baby.” I am too.

Skeptical. It still seems so unlikely, all this. The thought has crossed my mind that maybe that pregnancy test (um, I mean those three pregnancy tests) was the sort that show a “+” when you are NOT pregnant. I feel like we can’t tell anyone about it until we have some proof. Like an ultrasound. Or me no longer being able to fit into the booth at our favorite Mexican restaurant.

Worried. This is a given for me, really. Despite all my complicated feelings about this, there is the ever-present hum of “What if something goes wrong? Or already has?”


A Second

Well, I guess it takes big news to get me to post anything these days. And I think this qualifies:

I'm not sure how to say this or what to say next but it seems as though somehow. Erm. Seems as though I am pregnant.

There it is. It is a surprise and we are terrified but how could we not also feel lucky and thrilled? To have this as a surprise. The surprise of our lives.