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Well. There's so much to do before the baby comes. I had been daydreaming of taking a sick day from work.
However, an important part of my daydream had been not actually being sick. Sick days when you are sick are surprisingly unproductive. Although not entirely un-fun. If you have to be sick, there's a lot to be said for being sick while the toddler is at day care and you can lie alone on the couch by the window and read. Or sleep, even if it is a feverish, tossing and turning kind of sleep. Incidentally I do not recommend trying to toss and turn when nearly 8 months pregnant.
Actually, quick note to my friends who have said that they are thinking about second kids. Do not discount the exhaustion of pregnancy. It was not easier this time. It was harder. This is probably individual, but my experience was probably because of two things. 1) So much energy goes to the kid I already have. 2) I am in much worse shape for this pregnancy. Before I had the Junebug I worked out all the time, I was in great shape. Before I got pregnant with Hypo I got to run maybe once a week, or twice if I was lucky, and bike to work once a week rather than four or five times. That has made a huge difference and not a good one. My margin is razor thin right now. Do you know why I'm sick today? I'm pretty sure it's because last weekend I decided to be disciplined and get shit done and I stayed up late. Stay up late to get things done one day = be sick for three days, lose one day of work entirely. I literally cannot push myself: the resources are not there.
Something to think about.
In good news, the Junebug continues basically delightful. 25 months has been a revelation. I can tell him something as complicated as "Your toys are in the living room. You could go get some toys and then come play in the kitchen while Mama makes dinner," and he will go and get his toys and bring them back. And sit in his toy bin and tell me how it is a double decker bus. It's wonderful. Less wonderful is his occasional need to listen to "The Wheels On The Bus" fifteen times in a row, but I remind myself that he can't make me, I have the authority, but he has control over so little in his life that it is an act of generosity and kindness to let him listen to the song he wants, plus it is okay to say that fifteen times is enough.
Sometimes I will catch sight of him and have a moment of weirdness - there's a little boy in my house! What the hell? Whose little boy is this? Where are his parents? before it's like my brain snaps into focus and I realize that my baby is gone, this is my little boy. And then I have to go over and hug him really hard because we are the only parents he has. Nobody else is going to take care of him. I'm his only mama, and sometimes that makes me want to cry for him, because some part of me feels like he should have a real mama. God only knows what I mean by that. Someone younger? Older? Someone who always wanted kids? Maybe someone who stays home full-time? Probably someone who owns a sewing machine. I think some part of my brain thinks that a real mama has the time and sewing skills to make a kid's Halloween costume. I know rationally that no kid who eats as much meat and berries as this kid does could really be described as anything but insanely lucky and possibly spoiled, but you try telling the deep patterns in my brain that.
However, an important part of my daydream had been not actually being sick. Sick days when you are sick are surprisingly unproductive. Although not entirely un-fun. If you have to be sick, there's a lot to be said for being sick while the toddler is at day care and you can lie alone on the couch by the window and read. Or sleep, even if it is a feverish, tossing and turning kind of sleep. Incidentally I do not recommend trying to toss and turn when nearly 8 months pregnant.
Actually, quick note to my friends who have said that they are thinking about second kids. Do not discount the exhaustion of pregnancy. It was not easier this time. It was harder. This is probably individual, but my experience was probably because of two things. 1) So much energy goes to the kid I already have. 2) I am in much worse shape for this pregnancy. Before I had the Junebug I worked out all the time, I was in great shape. Before I got pregnant with Hypo I got to run maybe once a week, or twice if I was lucky, and bike to work once a week rather than four or five times. That has made a huge difference and not a good one. My margin is razor thin right now. Do you know why I'm sick today? I'm pretty sure it's because last weekend I decided to be disciplined and get shit done and I stayed up late. Stay up late to get things done one day = be sick for three days, lose one day of work entirely. I literally cannot push myself: the resources are not there.
Something to think about.
In good news, the Junebug continues basically delightful. 25 months has been a revelation. I can tell him something as complicated as "Your toys are in the living room. You could go get some toys and then come play in the kitchen while Mama makes dinner," and he will go and get his toys and bring them back. And sit in his toy bin and tell me how it is a double decker bus. It's wonderful. Less wonderful is his occasional need to listen to "The Wheels On The Bus" fifteen times in a row, but I remind myself that he can't make me, I have the authority, but he has control over so little in his life that it is an act of generosity and kindness to let him listen to the song he wants, plus it is okay to say that fifteen times is enough.
Sometimes I will catch sight of him and have a moment of weirdness - there's a little boy in my house! What the hell? Whose little boy is this? Where are his parents? before it's like my brain snaps into focus and I realize that my baby is gone, this is my little boy. And then I have to go over and hug him really hard because we are the only parents he has. Nobody else is going to take care of him. I'm his only mama, and sometimes that makes me want to cry for him, because some part of me feels like he should have a real mama. God only knows what I mean by that. Someone younger? Older? Someone who always wanted kids? Maybe someone who stays home full-time? Probably someone who owns a sewing machine. I think some part of my brain thinks that a real mama has the time and sewing skills to make a kid's Halloween costume. I know rationally that no kid who eats as much meat and berries as this kid does could really be described as anything but insanely lucky and possibly spoiled, but you try telling the deep patterns in my brain that.
