If my kids look bored in these pictures, it’s because they were.  It was their half hearted effort at playing before I gave Brayden some Wii time.  My parenting these days is awful.  Not as far as discipline goes, or making sure they keep the rules of the house.  But just my quality time with them.  Things are so much different this time around with my pregnancy.  I feel like when have one child, and you are about to bring another into the world, you try to make the most of your remaining days as a parent of one.  Try to create lasting memories for your first child, and cherish each second so that they remember they are loved, and important and the first one who stole your heart away.

But it’s different this time around, now that I have two kids.  Now I play the game of survival.  With only nineteen days left, each day is a terrible struggle.  I wake up and feel like I need a nap an hour later.  I walk up a flight of stairs and feel like I will never catch my breath again.  I try to sit on the couch and read to them, but the closeness and warmth of their bodies bring me hot flashes.  Sitting on the floor to play a game brings shooting sciatic pain.  Every single little activity is exhausting, and I’ve not done much to try to fight it.  I’m measuring four weeks bigger than normal–this of course adds to the problem.  Baby #3 is in the 85th percentile for size according to his latest ultrasound, plus I just got diagnosed with polyhydromnios two weeks ago, which is an excessive amount of amniotic fluid–two strikes against me.  It’s no wonder I can’t move.  Add that to the million appointments, non-stress tests and ultrasounds in the coming weeks–it’s enough to drive anyone crazy.

Being pregnant is something I treasure.  It’s amazing in every way.  I do not take for granted the blessing that is in me. . . the movement that I feel, the dreaming of what our family will look like soon, and the joy that this little boy is going to bring us just like his two big brothers.  But I do not pretend in the least bit like it’s easy–any of it.  Sure, the first seven months are a breeze.  I still worked, I had energy, I sewed a whole bedroom, I even had a little second side business of selling newborn props which helped us out during my slow winter photography months.  But being nine months pregnant?  That’s no joke.  At all.  And to the people who still think it’s funny to ask if I am carrying twins?  Or triplets?  Did your momma not teach you proper social etiquette?  Do you think you are the very first person who thought up something so hilarious to say to someone who is already so self conscious about her size?  Is it that you freeze when you see a big pregnant belly and forget how to act normal, and that’s the first thing that comes to your mind?  Please, please, refrain.  I kid you not, in the past week alone, I’ve heard it three times.  It’s not funny.  It never will be.  I may smile and laugh it off, but it’s still not funny.

And now, I shall go back to counting down the days.