Tuesday, May 7, 2013

Dear Pregnancy {and your evil little friends}

Dear Lack of Sleep,

Look, I get it. You’re preparing me for when Elizabeth arrives. You want my body to be well adjusted to functioning on you before she gets here so that I don’t freak out and try to throw her out the window. I know you want what’s best for both of us and everything but, here’s the deal:

I’ve done this before. I’ll be alright. I promise I’m not going to shake her when she wakes up for a 2 am feeding. I PROMISE. I’ll adjust when the time comes. I didn’t shake either one of the boys (very hard) and I managed to quickly adjust to their schedules as not to put coffee in their bottles or formula in my coffee cup. They survived. They were loved. I did fine.

Please, please let me sleep.

Dear Brain,

Please calm the eff down.

Like I just explained to Lack of Sleep, I’ve done this before. There is no reason to be freaking out right now. Sure, you are allowed to be excited and nervous and everything but, could you please do it at a reasonable hour and not in the middle of the night? I know you are eager to get this Three Kids show on the road and stuff but, you have to calm down a bit and let me relax. You running constantly isn’t doing either of us any good. And stay away from Lack of Sleep. She is not, I repeat, NOT your friend.

Dear Restless Leg Syndrome,

Go away. No one likes you. You have no friends here and you are really, REALLY starting to piss me off.

And stop egging Lack of Sleep and Brain on. They don’t need your flippin’ help.

Dear Bladder,


Dear Sciatic Nerve Pain,

You are being completely ridiculous. I have two kids to take care of. I can not be all crippled and in pain with you. I have more important things to do. There is hair to wash, breakfast to make, lunches to pack, monsters to scare away, shoes to tie and boo boos to kiss. I’m really busy right now raising people and you constantly shooting debilitating pains down my leg is really cramping my style.

Dear Nausea,

I thought we talked about this around week 18 and we both agreed that you were going to stay away. I know it’s hard and you think I’m really fun to hang out with but, I assure you, I’m not. It’s not you, it’s me. Please go bother someone in their first trimester. They’re already expecting it. There is some woman out there who has been trying to get pregnant for three years and finally saw two pink lines and will totally welcome your company. She’ll be grateful for it. You two will make a perfect match.

Me? I’m over you. Accept it and move on.

Dear Trial of Labor and VBAC,

You don’t scare me.
Bring. It. On.

Dear Pregnancy,

You really are beautiful.

I want you to know I think you’re amazing and I’m really glad you chose me again, no matter what I say sometimes. Growing a person from scratch is really quite an honor. I feel blessed beyond measure to have you in my life. If it was just me, you and the fluttering fetus, we’d be great. It’s those other bastards that give you such a bad rep. You, my dear friend, are a miracle and nothing compares to you. Thank you for coming back when I least expected it and giving me one more chance to soak you in. It’s been very exciting to be able to share you with the boys. They think you’re pretty neat, too. I love the way you make Jeremy look at me all googly eyed, like I’m some kind of rock star. I love lying on my left side at the end of the day and letting you and the baby move and dance around while I watch Grey’s Anatomy. Fetal hiccups are borderline blissful. Listening to Brodie sing Ba Ba Black Sheep to my belly and watching Logan kiss it goodnight are two things I’ll never forget. I appreciate what you’ve done for my hair and my nails. My skin isn’t looking so bad, either. You have yet to leave any stretch marks this time around and for that, I thank you. I’m so glad you chose to give me a girl to grow this time. Fussing over pink things has actually made those evil friends of yours more bearable. (just don’t tell them I said that)

You have done nothing wrong and I want you to just keep on keepin’ on for about 3-4 more weeks, okay?

You’re doing great. Thank you for being you. I love you.


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