All the things...

There are a lot of things I want to say, like as a Facebook status, but don't, because I know everyone is tired of pregnancy and children posts...but it's my life. I am consumed by it.

Currently, 4.O never let's me forget his presence. Every time I stand from a sitting position, I questionably have to pee. Every time I stand from a lying position, I contract, and questionably have to pee. I am waddling, because it feels like my pubic bone is splitting in half. Walking has never been so difficult.  The contractions, the pain, the pressure, my back could go out any moment, my legs go numb, any number of things are preventing me from taking my little boys for nice evening stroll.  I get home, and sit down.  I force Matt to do EVERYTHING.  I am somewhat certain that I am currently disabled.

If I eat too much, or too late, or something a bit spicy, I sit up in the recliner to sleep.  Even that doesn't 100% guarantee that I won't wake up at 1am with acid reflux making me vomit.

On top of this, I am working full days.  I am masking my complete and utter misery, to appear put together, for my patients, peers and colleagues.  Why do I do this?  Because no one likes to be around a "Debbie Downer". My misery is not their misery.  I never did acquire the skill to mope. The only ones who seem to understand how I truly feel, who don't buy into my fake, friendly facade, are my immediate family members.  Guess when you live with someone for a long time, you can tell when they aren't them self anymore.

After my fourth round of nine months of pregnancy, I am not completely sure who my true "self" is anymore.  But I do know that I normally have A LOT more energy.  I like to be active, walk a lot, go to parks, take my kids places, keep my house picked up, drink coffee and eat spicy food, carry my own laundry baskets, cook dinner every so often, sleep on my back, join in my children's' games and rough housing, and more that I just can't get my brain to eek out.

At 37 weeks and 4 days, the little guy weighed in at 9lbs 9ozs on ultrasound.  So, it's really no joke that I walk around with a term size baby for at least a month longer than most people.  It's hard on a body.  Just hard.  And each pregnancy gets a weensy bit harder here at the end.  Thank goodness it is just that...the end.  What's one more week or so?  Though everyday seems to crawl by, 4.O will be here before we know it!  We should probably lock down a name or two.  Tomorrow, I might stop by Target to buy some Dreft so I can wash the newborn clothes.  I still don't know where I am going to store these clothes, but that's just details.  He really only needs blankets and diapers for the first month or so, right?

All along, I have been hoping for this baby to be 10 days early...so September 23rd it is.  What's another 4 days?

I can do this.

A Father's Love.

 "I see how much I love him, and I imagine my dad loved me like that one day, and it makes me wish I'd been a better son"

I read this anonymous quote, and it struck a chord.  I have thought of this, often.  The day Brock was born, I thought of my own parents.  I thought, seriously?  They loved something THIS MUCH!?  Not only something...but ME!?  It does not seem possible.  I am so flawed.  I can think of so many things I did which hurt or disappointed my parents through the years.  I think of how little I appreciated them.  But then I think of how none of that matters to me, as a mom now, myself.  I see it in Matt.  These baby boys could do no harm in my eyes.  I am proud of their every milestone.  I could kiss their cheeks until they are raw.  Like my own mother, I will make a birthday dinner for them every year that I am able, or they are available.  For their birth, is truly a day I celebrate.  And, it's not only me, I see this same awe, love, and reverence in their father.  He is just as smitten as I, and these boys will forever be his sons. No matter what they do, or who they become, they are loved by us.

To this day, I am still amazed by the human capacity for love.  I'm not sure I will ever get over how much one little person can take over your heart in an instant.  And that it can be repeated (soon to be) four times, without dampening the effects even slightly.  Though I hope for success, love, happiness, kindness, and virtue from all of my sons, I will never fault them for their mistakes.  Perhaps, one day, they will have a son and reflect in the same manner, but I want them to know...they could never be better.  In our eyes, they are already THE BEST.

Little Things

      As I was driving, with all 3 boys in the van, I hear a loud, long, adult-like fart.  And Curtis, just begins to belly laugh.  Infectiously.  To the point where all 3 boys are laughing. Straight from their gut!  I just had to laugh too.  When we all finally settle down, Curtis continues to have a smirk on his face.  He finally says, "I tooting, Mama".  Oh really?

      Matt has been encouraging Brock to go downstairs and turn on cartoons, or play on the iPad in the morning for weeks.  As independent as that child likes to think he is, there are some habits which are hard to break.  Like convincing him that it is OK to sit alone and eat breakfast or watch TV.  Matt would give him pep talks at night.  Telling Brock he is a big boy, that he knows how to turn on the television himself, that he does not need to be supervised at every moment, that his parents do not need to be awake with him.
       After 4 weeks of having to wake up in the 5 o'clock hour, I finally had a 'normal' morning - which means I did not have to be awake until about 7:15am.  Amazingly, Matt's hard work kicked in that day.  But, just before heading downstairs, on his own, for the first time, Brock had to clarify a few things with his father.  He goes up to him and says, "So, I can do anything I want?"  And Matt, says, "Well, sure, within reason. What are some things you shouldn't do?"  And Brock replies, "Wake up mom, and break picture frames."  Hmmm...the wake up mom bit makes total sense.  Not breaking picture frames???  I mean, probably shouldn't go around doing that, makes me wonder how often he thinks about bustin' up a picture frame.

     Perhaps related to the above post, one morning, Brock came sprinting upstairs, breathless, to tell me about a show he had been watching downstairs while I slept. He exclaims "Mom!  They showed a real lady having a baby on TV and it was sooooooo cute!!"  He then dashed back off, and back downstairs.  I wondered how graphic this show with a "real lady having a baby" was.  What exactly did they show?  Well, piece by piece, I have learned that this program was pretty thorough.  As the other day, when discussing the impending birth of his baby brother, Brock informed me that I would have to go to "the pushing hospital". 

It's all in the angle...

...or the outfit. 

Day to day, I get such a range of comments.  When in scrubs, I generally get told, "I can't even tell you're pregnant!  You look great for 35 weeks."  Conversely, in an outfit like the purple shirt above, I am frequently asked "Are you sure there aren't twins in there?" or "You're ready to pop!" or just speechlessness when my answer to "When are you due?" is: "in 5 weeks"!  Also, just looking at the side by side, you can see that the angle makes a HUGE difference as to whether I am carrying "high" or "low" or whether the baby has "dropped".  One day, I thought it might be fun to update my Facebook status with every single comment I got through the day regarding my pregnancy.  I still might. 

Recently, I have had a few friends, patients, experiences that have made me think twice about complaining about my current "condition".  There are so many things in life that can go "wrong".  Good people can get diagnosed with horrible diseases, healthy couples can struggle to conceive, jobs get lost, any number of extremely stressful, saddening things can happen to anyone at anytime.  I am not currently in that kind of situation.  My "condition" is a truly happy one.  I am lucky to be where I am; 35 weeks pregnant, with a strong, healthy, huge baby boy.  It's hard, sometimes, to look past the immediate, the now.  My RLS continues to worsen, and consume my evenings.  Depending on what I drink, some days, I literally stop in the bathroom to pee between every patient! If I don't drink enough, I contract all day - which also makes me feel like I have to pee.  Lose-lose situation there. The indigestion...well, everyone is sick of hearing about that, but it sucks.  I waddled a bit the other day because I must have slept wrong, making my hips and lower back nearly non-functional all day.  The baby is so large, and strong, it hurts now when he kicks.  I have to hold my stomach all day to keep his legs in check.  I could go on, and on, but these are all wonderful problems to have.  Wonderful, and extremely temporary problems.  I only have 5 (likely 4) weeks to go in this pregnancy.  It has sped along, and soon, I will meet Baby boy O, number four.

Last night, I insisted we go to the pool, mostly to relieve some pressure from my hips and back.  It did the trick.  I feel like a new woman today.  But it also made me look at, smile with, and enjoy my little family.  It reminded me how lucky I truly am.  How ridiculous it is that I constantly complain about my relatively minor aches and pains.  Watching Curtis play by himself, sitting on the little bubbling fountains, giggling, without a care in the world, melts my heart.  Observing Brock in his floaties, trying to swim after and play with a group of big boys, just makes me laugh...who does he think he is?  Sweet, baby George, alternating between climbing on and cuddling with Matt and I fills my heart.  Watching him sprint up the ramp after getting dressed, saying "nigh nigh", because we pushed him far past his 7:30 bedtime, is sad, yet, cute all at the same time.  If a warm, August night, with the beautiful cloudless sky, in a huge, clean, pool, surrounded by the 4 (5) loves of your life isn't enough to make you love life and appreciate everything in it, than you need to get your head checked.  Because, it's perfect.

It's Not a Hoax.

My close friend Whitney had been talking of throwing a "Think Pink" shower since she found out I was pregnant.  I was uncomfortable with this idea, as from the moment I saw the positive test to the second before I received confirmation via 20 week ultrasound, I was certain 4.O was male.  I had no problem leaving the gender a surprise in the prior three pregnancies. You grow accustom to the idea of not knowing.  It's just such a fun, happy surprise at the end of a long, hard process.  My mentality is that, it's always a good surprise, no matter which way it goes, boy vs girl.  I didn't think, that in your heart, you could ever be disappointed with the end result of a healthy, crying, pink baby.  Until 4.O.

It was a strange thing.  I began having anxiety about the delivery.  Worrying that I might not be equally happy with either result.  People seemed so hopeful it was a girl.  In fact, nearly EVERYONE seemed convinced or at least incredibly hopeful that this 4th O'Laughlin child might be a she. I really wasn't.  I was indifferent and leaning to the male side of the spectrum.  Which made it all the harder to listen to people go on, and on, "reassuring" me that this one was "definitely" a girl. The idea that anyone, most of all myself, might be disappointed with a 4th boy did not sit well.  Therefore, I decided to possibly end the speculation, at least for myself.  Even during the US, I remained hesitant to find out, in fact, I told the sonographer not to tell us, but sure as she laid that probe on my belly, my boy proudly exposed himself.  A boy!!  Honest to God, I felt not even a moment of disappointment.  In fact, I think I felt relief.  A boy is so familiar, easy, sweet, perfect for our family.  Now, having done it both ways, I see advantages to waiting and knowing.  I am at ease.  I still hope for brown hair, brown eyes, and some of my Smith genes.

A boy...great.  I tried, and tried, to convince Whitney that I shower with all girls stuff was a bad idea, without actually coming out and telling her why.  Finally, realizing the endeavor to be futile, (as I was attempting to persuade one of the few people who rival me in stubbornness -in a good way), I decided to tell her I did not want a "Think Pink" shower because 4.O was in fact "Blue".  Days later, we came up with the plan to do a surprise gender reveal at the shower for all!  What ensued, I would have never predicted, but it was a beautiful day, moment, and event with nothing but joy for our soon to be bundle.

Whitney devised a competitive game as a diversion.  The ultimate goal, being to get to the ribbon and pull down the balloons first, to search for a small balloon, with a Target Gift card.  Interestingly, no one cared to search for the Target associated balloon, when they all saw blue balloons and a giant sign shouting "Baby Boy!"  In fact, Meaghan, the first person to dress her baby completely, just stood in shock, repeating "Are we being punked!?"  Confusion ensued.  No one seemed to hear me repeatedly answering their questions with, "Yes. I. Am. Having. A. Boy."  Some laughed, some cried, no one knew if I was being surprised too.  It was chaos.  It was not a hoax.  It was fun.

With all the excitement, I could hardly enjoy the incredible food, supplied by Whitney and co-host, Christin.  She even had Bella Napoli iced coffee.  Mmmm, my fave.  I think 4.O will have enough diapers to supply him until he is a Size 3-4.  And the group got me a new swing (as the one purchased almost 5 years ago has just narrowly survived 3 giant infants, as well as toddlers who seem to think it's fun as well.)  The hosts went above and beyond with adorable decor, diaper cakes and a diaper tricycle.  I genuinely feel spoiled, and loved.  Most of all, the fears that my beloved 4th boy might not be as welcomed as the previous three were absolutely proven irrational.  His arrival will be greeted with nothing but joy, just like his preceding brothers.  And I cannot thank you all enough, for reassuring me that you all are just has happy about another little boy, as we are...in the words of Mimi O'Laughlin, "Welcome to the club".