Amazing

I loved being pregnant. I’m not just saying that, or trying to rub it in for the poor women who were sick and uncomfortable for 9 months. I just plain loved it. It was all amazing to me- I was growing a baby! I looked forward to bedtime everyday, not just because I was exhausted, but because my husband and I would lay and watch my son roll around and poke his arms and legs out. Then I’d lie on my side and hold my belly and tell my baby everything I wanted him to know.

I had a hard time thinking about not being pregnant anymore, so much so that I remember crying about it. One, I hadn’t ever felt better about myself. I carried the baby out in front like a basketball, and was lucky that pregnancy agreed with me. People would tell me how cute my belly was. I never got compliments like that before. Why mess with a good thing? Two, I was scared to death of taking care of a brand new baby. Three, I was more than scared to death of actually, ahem… having, a baby. It had to hurt, and everyone has their horror stories and simply couldn’t resist telling a poor, innocent soon-to-be mom every one of them.

During my last trimester, everyone was asking if I was ready. And I kept saying “Not a bit!” Then they’d tell me, “You will be, just wait.” I didn’t believe them. Then I started getting stretch marks, I stopped not having indigestion, and the baby wouldn’t keep his heels out of my ribs. They were so right.

Now, I spend hours staring at my baby, marveling that I made him. That this beautiful, perfect boy lived in my belly for ten months. Yes, ten months. People like to pretend it’s only nine, but any full term mom knows better!

Barely an hour old. That hat can't even pretend to fit him anymore!