Well, well, well…time marches on. Time marches on at a harder and faster pace than I ever knew time could march. For those of you who may not know, thus have obviously avoided my friend requests on Facebook or hide my statuses about puke and mood swings, Nate and I are expecting Baby Brunner #2. Believe it, folks. I’m 20 weeks pregnant with our second little person. 20 weeks have come and gone, and I have neglected to write one blog post about it. We are truly over-the-moon excited about our new adventure, which is scheduled to arrive February 5, 2012. I don’t know that I want to rehash the last 20 weeks or not, but I’ll summarize for those of you who I don’t frequent on the telephone with my tales of terror:
Weeks 1-4: Didn’t know a thing was happening inside my body. Drank wine.
Weeks 5-7: Took a positive test with my parents in the house, alone in the bathroom. Didn’t tell a soul until they left. Pounced on Nate as he walked up the staircase and blurted out the news. His face was priceless. Coen learned to point to my belly and say “baby.” Of course, he also pointed to his own belly and said “baby,” but that’s neither here nor there.
Week 8: I hemorrhaged and thought we had lost our baby. On a VERY serious note, I would like to let all mothers who have lost a baby know that I’m so sincerely sorry and I respect and appreciate your strength to get through such a painful and unexplainable loss. Mine was a hemorrhage, and for that I am grateful. But the fear is something I can never put into words. My heart goes out to you strong, courageous and beautiful mothers.
Weeks 9-17: Oh dear me oh my. I may never forget this time in my life, nor do I long to repeat it. During these 8 weeks, Nate was a single dad while I spent large chunks of my day in bed hovered over a red mop bucket. My son brought me toy tractors and talking Elmo dolls as comforting devices when I was hanging over the toilet, forcing a tear-filled smile to reassure him “mommy’s just fine.” I threw up out the door of my vehicle onto newly-cemented construction sites. I threw up under the daughter of the company presidents’ Volkswagon. I threw up on my new purple maternity dress (this one still bums me out). I threw up in a Target bag all the way from the 394 tunnel to the driveway of our house. I threw up in the doctor’s office sink. I threw up in a JC Penney garbage can with my arms full of pillows (only this one included slight flatulence and a very entertained sales clerk). At week 10, I dug out maternity pants because I am growing twelve billion times faster this time than I did with Coen. Overall, I would say this needs to qualify as a pretty dreadful couple of months. However, on August 6, my beautiful baby sister got married and it was one of the happiest days of my life. And God gave me a 24-hour vomit-hiatus, so I partied til 3 a.m. and kept down my cake and everything was absolutely perfect! Sunday, I threw up again, but my 24 hours had expired, so I couldn’t complain.
Week 18:Level II Ultrasound. The moment so many women wait for. I was no exception. I had absolutely no idea if I wanted a boy or a girl this time around, so I don’t know where my anxiety was stemming from. I went to bed wanting a girl, I woke up wanting a boy, and the cycle continued until I was lying in the straddle-bed with cold goop on my stomach and Nate’s hand firmly holding mine. The moment of truth. I knew Nate wanted a girl. He was shy about making it verbal, but it was relatively obvious throughout the whole pregnancy. As the ultrasound tech was skimming the baby that morning, I swore I saw a
little boy-part, but kept it to myself. “Yup, we’re having another boy,” I convinced myself in my head. My mind raced to thoughts of Coen and a brother, playing baseball and wrestling and doing other little boy things that little boys do together. I was content with that life in my head. But, then I turned to look at Nate, and I saw something in his face. Something that made my head turn to the skies (sometimes I’m not even sold on what or who is up there, but I’m assuming it’s a higher power that calms me down in moments of panic) and said a mini-prayer: “Please give my husband a baby girl. He deserves this and so much more.” Seconds later, the tech made it known: IT’S A GIRL. Before I could reflect on my obvious inabilities to read ultrasound penises, I was caught in a moment with Nathan. He squeezed my hand a little tighter and we both had eyes full of tears. We had gotten our wish. It was a Top-10 Life Moment. Hands down.
Weeks 19-20: Feeling much better. Second trimester has truly kicked in. I’ve started ordering purple decorations for the nursery and buying clothes in all shades of pink (no, seriously, there’s like a million shades of pink!). We have names picked out, but are still taking suggestions. I’m staying up later than my 2-year-old again. The smell of baby poop no longer sends me to the dreaded land of porcelain. Life is good again. It was good before, but now it’s really good. Still working on some things…I can’t say this is his fault, but according to all my books, “intimacy is supposed to resurface” this trimester. Now, although I still fit into my “cute” undies, unfortunately that alone does not blind my husband from the horrific visuals and sound accompaniment from Weeks 9-17 noted above. I was far from pretty, and I’m working on getting that back. But, other than that, we’re well on our way to normalcy again. Well, normalcy as we now know it.
There’s your recap, friends and strangers. Now that we are caught up, I hope to get to writing here again. Life is a balancing act these days and blogging has taken its spot on the back burner. But hopefully this will change. Too many good life moments that make great stories to not share with those who either relate or just enjoy laughing at me (notice, I did say “at me” – not “with me” – I’m not naive).
February will be here before we know it, but I’m pretty positive that pregnant life, mixed with two-year-old tantrums, will provide me enough material to write a novel or two. So, brace yourselves…we’ve officially been reacquainted.