Waiting,

I start work tomorrow, a fact that a part of me is totally unaware of, and then another part of me is screaming, Thank God, give me something new to think about than all this @%#& in my head.
Ethan is growing up faster and faster everyday. I think for a little while there I thought he would be a baby forever, or at least a toddler, and now here he is putting his underwear, shorts, shirt, and shoes on all by himself. He reads me his stories he has memorized, like The Best Mouse Cookie, and I sit on the couch with my mouth half opened, disbelieving. Seriously? This is how fast it goes? Crap.
And then at the very same time this baby cannot come out soon enough. I was ready for labor at 28 weeks, so mentally this kid is WAY overdue. I totally have pre-post partum going on; if I am alone, I am probably crying. It's lovely.
Today Joey responded to my rude quietness with grace; eventually he just gave me a longer hug than usual and then said to have a good day before he left. I bawled my eyes out as soon as the door shut on his way out.
Then, I fell asleep.
I woke up hungry so I made a plate full of salami, cheese, Wheathins, and big, purple grapes. It looked like something in a Renaissance painting.

Goodnight.

It's late and Joey is working overtime.
I am learning a bazillion million things, one of which is not to hate overtime. That it is an act of love, even though at first it feels like a punch in the gut.
That raising a family is like a climbing a huge, impossible mountain, but that somehow, we make it.
On that note, I can't really believe I am having a baby anytime now. I can't believe that there is a baby in my tummy that is going to cry a whole heck of a lot when he comes out. A person that will need to be bathed and fed and changed and bounced and sung to, even if I feel like I have to barf, or whatever. Right now he's so silent; a mound under my boobs that moves sometimes.
I can't believe I am starting this whole thing over, that I actually consented to another bomb to be dropped on our life about nine months ago. It seemed so far away then, and of course, our life has done a nose dive in the last nine months since then. But God knew it was going to do that. And here we are.
Things are fuzzy now, but they won't be for long. Clarity eventually comes, and so does peace. A way to live with the inevitable, unexpected blows of life. Faith that is stronger, a God that is bigger, and loves me more than I ever knew.

Insomnia.

I did not sleep last night. Not one half hour, not one minute. I DID NOT SLEEP. I watched the outside world get lighter. In the morning Google told me this is a common issue in pregnancy. Seriously? Can this get any more fun?
So right now (it's about five in the evening), I feel pretty much almost dead. My head is pounding and my eyes ache.
How did I miss all this when I was pregnant with Ethan? I felt like Audrey Hepburn with a bubble under my shirt the whole time: pretty, and like I could float anywhere I went.
And then at the craft fair this weekend I had a man ask me how many more minutes I had left till the baby fell out.
So when I got home, I figured it out, so the next time someone asks me such a nice, polite question I will have an answer: fifty thousand four hundred minutes. And thank you for reminding me.
I am taking Ethan to the park to hit the ball and ride his bike. He has been such a trooper with me and all my pregnancy blues. He gives me hugs and is quite happy to watch a movie while I try to sleep. He is so excited to meet Noah, and get his Gordan train which I promised him once he is a big brother.
I am blessed by his love.

Doctor Visit.

Went to the doctor today and she said as far as she can tell this baby is head down. Heck yes he is head down--I could have told her that from all the pressure down there. Yeah, his head is right there, like a small boulder I'm holding with my pelvis all day long.
It's root'en toot'en wonderful, especially when I lie down on my side (so I won't kill the baby due to loss of oxygen or blood or whatever) and it feels like my hips are about ready to collapse. And yes I have a freaken pillow between my legs.
On a brighter note, I feel really good. I love exercising even though I must look completely ridiculous on the elliptical, sweating and totally getting into it with my big belly along for the ride, but I don't care. I am not swollen (yet) and my belly is big, brown and beautiful, without one single stretch mark (don't worry ladies, I make up for this with all the cellulite on my butt and thighs).
Joey came with me to the doctor. He's come the last three times, which means pretty much the world to me, even though we don't talk while we are there. He looks at People and checks his phone, and I put lotion on and eat Tic Tacs. When the doctor, who I have been seeing for a good six months now, calls me "Dana" about ten or twenty times, neither of us say anything. I picture myself cussing her out while I am in labor and she tells me (Dana) that I am doing such a good job. She is really nice and I really don't want to do that.
I plan to tell her my real name next time as we walk to the elevators.
I lean into Joey when the elevator door closes, like it's a private little bubble made just for us for three seconds. I think this act of intimacy works because I know it will be over so quickly, that soon we will have something to do, like walk out of the elevator, and there is minimal awkwardness.

Preschool.

Noah's nursery is coming together; I don't feel like I want to puke every time I walk by it. In fact, it is stinken adorable. I'll post pictures when it is all done.
I've been subbing at Lion and the Lamb, hanging out with all these little three year old people. Tiny people. For the most part they are innocent and open, not afraid to ask if I am pregnant, or if Ethan's ear will change once he's grown up. Their eyes are bright.
Ethan didn't have to spend the whole day in the office but he still has trouble when he has to play in a certain area or with only certain toys (preschool is very structured you know). He melts down. The kids just stare at him like what's his problem? I pick him up and tell him it's going to be OK, that he can play with those toys later. I'm lucky if he doesn't slap my back.
He still likes it, still wants to go, which is the most important thing.

8-8-09.

I am living in small moments. Remembering the sun on my cheeks, the sweat from my workout and how good those gifts feel. Music is food, soothing something deep inside.
I am going to go shopping today, thinking about Noah's nursery, picking up a couple of things to finish his little nursery.
I thought about him for the first time this morning having an actual face: a little, gushy baby face that they have for about two weeks. Those tiny eyes that look like a pencil line when they are sleeping,those pouty lips that want to suck like that is the only thing they are made for. It was a good thought, a happy one, a rare one.
I will see him soon.

Sleep!

I slept last night, only getting up once (instead of every hour like the night before) to pee and blow my nose. I feel like a dream, a good dream.
Noah kicks and turns inside of me, or at least he tries. It's like he gets half way turned over and then goes back to the way he was because there isn't enough room to complete the turn. It's uncomfortable when he really pushes out; sometimes I think dang, do they ever break through?
Joey is working overtime, we are squeezing it in while we can. I miss him but more so I am proud of him, overwhelmed by his desire to care for his family, no matter the hour. I couldn't work the hours he works, ever. If there was only one word to describe Joey, it would be the opposite of lazy--diligent? motivated? driven? a wee bit crazy? Anyway, I am thankful for it.
When we were dating we used to go for runs together. I remember one particular time running behind him on a hill, feeling a little irritated he was a head of me, but thinking as I watched him tackle the hill with ease and grace, breathing through each step, that I could follow him. That he would be a good leader, a good husband. He was wearing black shorts and his back, tanned from the sun, was dripping with sweat. He has never had a problem working hard, at anything.
I am also going to "work" today--subbing for the preschool at Grace. I will take Ethan with me--the last time I did this it was a disaster but I don't really have a lot of choices. This is why I am working here, so that I can take the bugger with me, so we don't have to have babysitters.
Yesterday went so smoothly--you feel like a sort of superhuman getting eleven preschoolers to all take a nap at the same time--but Ethan was at his grandmas. Ethan would not have gone down, or, he would have FINALLY gone to sleep five minutes before wake-up time, after two hours of telling him to be still and shut up (in other nice, preschool appropriate words), like he did last time.
Seriously makes me feel like I am crazy, like my hair is sticking up all over the place and my eyes are coming out of my head.
That's kind of what I am expecting today, although for some weird reason I am hopeful he will fall asleep like all the others...I don't know why. Hope is an odd thing, but necessary--and real.

Sleeplessness.

This morning I feel like I should write. I was up half the night or more, first to pee, but then sometime, maybe on the toilet, I started thinking about this dumb, immature, thoughtless thing I did yesterday and when my mind starts working at night, it's almost impossible to shut up.
I went over all my motives and realized I should have just kept my mouth shut. But, I didn't--no big surprise there. So then I had to think of all the ways I could make things better-- this seems like a simple process but I was up three hours by this point, the fan over my head making endless circles and swooshing noises.
I finally called the time lady because I am so blind I cannot see the clock, and I think the beep beep beep of the numbers woke up Joey--unless he was just laying there like an idiot listening to the fan too--because he asked me what I was doing.
I thought how suspicious I would be if I woke up and Joey was dialing some number in the middle of the night. I swear being pregnant (I hope it's the pregnancy) has seriously made me lose my mind--like he'd be calling his girlfriend in the middle of the night while I snored next to him. Good grief.
I just told him I couldn't sleep. He--unlike me--didn't care who the heck I was calling.
We both rolled over. A little while later, against my better judgment, I hesitantly called his name: Joe?
Mm.
So he was still awake. I knew I was walking on shaky ground because on top of him being half a sleep and him hating it when I interrupt his sleep (he usually has a harder time sleeping than I do) he also has the flu.
What do you do when you can't sleep?
And this is the point of this post; why I woke up in a good mood despite getting no sleep; why I was able to deal with Ethan's incredible cranky attitude this morning without completely losing it: Joey rolled over and put his arm around me.
It seemed like a gesture of sympathy, one I took completely. My body was able to relax with his weight next to mine; I concentrated on his heart beat.
I still didn't fall asleep until early morning, when the sun was already making the sky light, but I was able to rest.