Remember your first pregnancy? The one when you still had no idea what you were going to be up against, and your body was a temple, and it actually felt kind of good to sacrifice booze and brie for the benefit of your unborn bundle of joy, and people carried even your lightest grocery bags for you, and you loved the way your hair looked like a Prell commercial when you blew it dry, and you got to (HAD to!) discover a whole new world of retail, and pedicures were a weekly must — especially once you had gained a few pounds?
That was nice. It’s good to be Princess for a month or ten.
This morning Babyman asked me, “Do you have a baby in your tummy, mommy?” and when I said “You know I do, baby,” he punched me lightly in the stomach. “Does that hurt you, mommy?” he asked.
Hmmm. It’s different this time around.
Babyman does not play the Princess game. Babyman has a head cold and a cough and wakes up three times in the night, then wakes up for good at 6:15 am no matter how tired his parents are. Babyman wants to be carried the ten-block walk to the car even though he alone weighs as much as three grocery bags and I am usually already carrying a grocery bag anyway. Babyman wants to be tickled on the couch, which is sweet, actually, and his little laugh burbles through the apartment like a stream, but he also refuses to take off his sneakers (I mean, really, does he have somewhere to go??) and when the tickling gets to be too much he inevitably accidentally kicks me in the face, or the stomach (get used to it, Bun-in-Oven!).
Babyman wants to sit (read: climb/squirm) on my lap while I eat breakfast and share my bowl of cereal — but NOT the bites with fruit in them — and all the while, another human being is gestating away inside me, using my blood supply AND what’s left of breakfast before I’ve even registered eating it, and long before the one cup of half-caff has worked it’s magic.
Did I mention I work full-time?
Suffice to say, I WANT A GLASS OF WINE. (Scratch that. I had a glass of wine, a small one, last week. I WANT FOUR GLASSES OF WINE.)
Oh, dear. You know I love my kidlet(s) more than anything, but lately I am just…tired. Does someone want to come over and make organic dinners for Babyman for the next 24 weeks or so?
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