thelastbellypics

I've restarted this post several times since I am not sure what direction I want it to take. In some ways, I cannot believe that we've made it to July. This pregnancy has not flown by, especially the first half. I think it seems like such a long time coming because it really has been about more than just being pregnant. It is also about getting pregnant. This journey, which will hopefully be ending within a week, started last May for us with that first "Yes+" and took us down a path that I never anticipated. The excitement of getting pregnant on the first try, the emotional hesitation about that pregnancy, the miscarriage, the ectopic, the emergency surgery, the painfully slow recovery, the devastation of not having it happen as quickly again, the IUI, and the disbelief that this is how we made a baby, not to mention the heinous morning sickness all get counted in this journey.

Scott, Avery and I are about to meet the fourth member of our family and it is not lost on me how terribly lucky we are to have her. So many couples struggle emotionally and physically to create their families, and many of them I know, still are. Our journey will stay with me for the rest of my life, but I truly believe it enhances how I understand each end of the spectrum.

Don't get me wrong, there is still a HUGE (literally) part of me that just wants to whine about how uncomfortable I am, how frustrating these braxton hicks can be, how my patience meter is below zero, and how I just cannot wait for this pregnancy to be O.V.E.R.

I feel guilty for sometimes being annoyed by Avery (but seriously, would it kill him to let Daddy take him to the bathroom, put on his jammies or read to him!?!). I keep telling myself that there will come a time when I am not my son's favorite person and he will not want to be with me all of the time, and to cherish every single moment with him. This strategy works about 93% of the time, but as I am increasingly uncomfortable, my patience for sitting on the hard tile floor of the bathroom while my darling son uses the potty for the third time after being tucked into bed, is starting to wear thin. I swear, he saves something just so that he has the excuse to stall going to bed because going potty is the only reason we let him out, even if he "needs somesing."

It's just so interesting that in just a few days, I'm going to go from this supremely cranky, pregnant mother of one to someone experiencing the euphoria of birthing a child. I keep remembering an email I sent to Stacy at the end of her pregnancy trying to bring a little humor to her last few days wherein I explained that a woman only goes into labor after she's reached her Maximum Level of Tolerable Misery.

Sister, I think we're there.