Wednesday, January 25, 2012

Baby penises and super powers

Some people might have a hard time remembering to date things with '2012' instead of '2011', but I am so far ahead of the game this year, I've already accidentally written '2013'. If I were really on the ball, I would have made sure it wasn't on doctor office paperwork and insurance information, but right now my brain only works in fits and sputters. There's no gold star though for being one year ahead. It just means when you make mistakes, insurance companies (which are already impossible to work with) become gaping black holes of evil... sucking all your money and sanity.

What I'm lacking these days in brain power, I make up in super power. Whenever I am pregnant, time speeds up to near hyper-jump speed. I feel like yesterday I found out I was pregnant, I blinked, and now I'm halfway done, I'll blink again and the baby will be here. I won't have his crib ready, or his nursery set up. His cloth diapers won't coordinate with his clothes, and I will be digging desperately through the garage for the boppy, swing, and all important breast pump. Everyone keeps telling me, all you need is diapers and a few onesies...and after all I have two other boys, it's not like I don't have eight rubbermaid bins full of boy stuff.

But to me it's like training for a race. You run your first 5k and you are impressed you even finished. But then you think maybe a 10 k would be fun. Then you find new running shoes. Then you start thinking silly things like improving your time, and running faster than the big hairy guy with the neon shirt and beeping pedometer. Every time you run a race you want to improve.

Blame my competitive first-born-ness, but to me, pregnancy is like the ultimate sporting event. It's like a marathon that takes nine months to cross the finish line. I've finished twice now, and this time I want everything to be perfect. Delusional? Probably. I'll add OCD to my list of pregnancy symptoms.

Jamie prayed for two years for a baby...a sister, so when he found out a new sibling was en route, he naturally assumed it was a girl. After all, why would God only answer half his prayer? That's just silly. If He's going to go through the trouble of listening to a 6 year old at all, God might as well answer the whole thing. Needless to say, "unhappy" is too mild of a word for his reaction when he found out the baby in mom's tummy was a boy. It wasn't that he was devastated, it was more like opening a package from Amazon and realizing they sent you the wrong thing. You very matter-of-factly send it back and ask for the correct one.

It's taken months for him to grapple with the idea of having another boy in the family, but he finally stopped scowling whenever anyone mentioned Robbie, and he started talking to my belly every now and then with a "hey, I got here first, just so you know". In the end, logic always prevails. I wasn't sure what brought about the change of heart until I overheard him tell Charlie. "We're having a baby brother because God ran out of baginas up in heaven and He only had penises left."

So there you go. This apparently is the reason I'm embroidering owls onto hand made baby rompers instead of flowers onto little dresses. :-)