Also, I recently remembered that I possessed a Nintendo DS. My friend Nat gave it to me back in the day (pre marriage/pre baby/pre homestead/post brunch- sigh) and I had hidden it in a fit of traumatic guilt after I had accidentally starved my Nintendog to death. (Maybe they should TELL you that, even though the game is powered off, the dog is still requiring food and rolling about in his own filth!)
I’m sorry, Nat. I didn’t want you to find out this way.
So, yes. Brain teasers.
Apparently I have the Brain Age of an 82 year old. (This is the truest thing I’ve ever typed- it literally came up as “Uh…82. The ideal Brain Age is 20!” Yeah? So is body type, but you don’t see me fretting that one.)
And sure, maybe the perfect time to try out new software/test the ol’ brain is NOT at 10:30pm, in jammies, under the covers, pretending that one’s husband is pretending to not drool on one’s shoulder. (See, kids? The awesome does not have to fully stop after your childless twenties! Just most of it!)
I promise to give it another go. I’m clearly a work in progress as, just this morning while emptying the dishwasher, I put my full coffee mug away in the cabinet.
And I realize that I haven’t posted about this pregnancy as much as I had with Nora, formerly known as The Bitsy. And yes, I also realize that it would be impossible to fill as many self-absorbed tomes as I did with my first pregnancy (“No one else has ever had an ultrasound like this”/”Turns out heartburn is REAL”/I’ve decided to go BPA-free…and I’m the first one, ever”).
But seriously, what do we really know about this kid, other than his/her birthdate (October 4th), penchant for cured/processed meats (liverwurst and microwaved salami- breakfast of champions), and facial features (just like Nora’s and P.J.’s- shocking)?
Okay, not much.
But the stuff I know I really like. I have less fear this time. (Which is an absolutely asinine thing to say- anyone who’s ever even been around a kid knows that you should never lose your terror, ever.) However, the things that used to send me for the baby manual, nurse’s hotline, and sister’s cell in the middle of the night (sorry, Kate), doesn’t freak me out so much anymore.
Crippling nausea? Take a box of Triscuits to bed. (It also discourages any pesky cuddle time.)
Peeing every hour on the hour? Nope- not bladder cancer. Just regular ol’ pee. Sometimes there’s nothing even there! (Oh, HAH.)
Kid kicking way too much at 3am? No, she/he’s not trying to tell me that something is horribly wrong with the umbilical cord (I was a mess, this I realize). It’s just the kid’s way of saying hullo, thanks for the soft tacos.
Perhaps this knowledge combined with the fact that we are not rebuilding a foreclosure in the 7th month this pregnancy also helps with my feelings of well-being. I’m not [too] garishly huge [yet], my cravings are still whimsical, and this new kid already has multiple places in which to sleep once he or she makes a grand arrival.
I like The Monkey a lot.
So does Nora, but she fully believes that her sibling is already here, in the form of my swelling tummy. That’s right, she kisses “the baby” and pats him/her, and believes that is that is that. Sibling rivalry NOTHING. Having a baby is easy when it makes no sound and requires no additional attention from her parents. Mainly Dad. Which is good. Status quo is awesome.
I don’t foresee any major obstacles, do you?
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