Which, you know, means this:
(Couldn’t resist throwing in another image from the Charley Harper biology book.)
Which, you know, means, um, WHAT!? Or, at least, that was my first reaction. Which was quickly followed by, “Oh you have got to be kidding me.” Then my reaction was to fall to the ground for a while. Then Dave and I burst out laughing, and said the word “Crazy!” about 700 times. Because, I mean, COME ON. I swear all Dave did was sneeze in the same room where I was. People, this is the second time we’ve nailed it before I got my period after having a baby. What are the odds of that? Well, fairly high, apparently, at least for us. We joke that I’m like one of those baboons whose butt gets all red and she does a little dance waving her posterior around when she ovulates. I have no other explanation. But I haven’t had my period since April of 2005, which makes for some amusing conversations when I call the midwives and they ask when my last period was, to try to determine how far along I am, and then are flummoxed when the little Wheel O’ Birth Dates says I’m 220 weeks pregnant. But at least I’m funding my kids’ college educations with money saved from not buying tampons.
So my first 80 thoughts were “Crazy!” and my next 80 thoughts were “Oh, crap!” and my 150th thought was “Well, at least I’ll get to give birth in that fancy new birthing center.” And there was also the overwhelming thought that I’ve never believed more in some kind of divine force that has a plan for my life, or at least in the idea that Jeffrey Eugenides puts forth in Middlesex that the children are these sort of floaty beings out in the ether, and when it’s time for them to be born, they wave goodbye to the others and say, “See you later!” and go floating down the chute into consciousness. Because I feel like the kids were there at our wedding in some ways, you know? So I guess there was one more little floaty being up there waiting to be born.
And then after I found out, I had to mourn for about a week, because, as you know, I was just getting my life in order here! Ugh. (Although this is a very good explanation for why all those crunches weren’t doing a blessed thing.) And then, finally, I started to get excited about it. I think four is actually going to be even better than three. With four kids, no one is left out. And there’s a nice balance. And we already have the minivan, and we’re finishing off the attic to be a giant kids’ room anyway, so why not add one more? Though I do have to say that, as an only child, this is taking a lot of deep breathing to get my mind around. I do love the big pile of kids though, and four is a better pile than three. Plus they can, I don’t know, have their own bridge tournament or something. Or play two-on-two basketball.
Right now I am 11 weeks pregnant. Right after that pregnancy test turned positive, I suddenly had the feeling that there was a giant piano dangling over my head, ready to drop. “Dave!” I said, with urgency, “We’ve got like two weeks before I’m so sick that I’m completely useless!” I ran around buying snacks and food and anything I could think of before that piano dropped. And let me just say that this time, it’s been like six pianos. Brutal. I am a mess. I seriously feel decent for maybe ten minutes a day. The rest of the time I’m either throwing up or feeling like I’m about to. And while throwing up is bad enough, it’s a whole other nightmare scenario when you have kids outside the door yelling, “I’m telling!” or “MOMMY! WHERE ARE YOU?” or Zuzu is insisting on crawling into my lap, and then, when I refuse that, she starts throwing things into the toilet. Can you think of anything worse than your toddler throwing tubes of toothpaste into the toilet when you’re throwing up? Isn’t that Dante’s Sixth Level of Hell?
Also I am so tired that I’ve had to take three naps while trying to write this post.
And so you’ll have to forgive me if World of Julie doesn’t get updated quite as frequently as it has been.
P.S. At our first midwife appointment last week, I got to learn the hilarious technical jargon they wrote in my (now one-inch-thick) file to describe Zuzu’s birth: “Precipitous spontaneous birth in shower. Mother carried baby to bed to birth placenta.”
P.P.S. Also, does anyone have any spare maternity clothes?