Work is so frustrating this time of year. We’re just a few weeks away from the end of the year, and I feel frantic, counting the instructional days remaining, and the number of units and lessons to cover (way too many). I’m losing eight of those days to state testing and final exams. I’m hoping that the time the students spend taking state tests gives me time to catch up on some planning and paperwork (it never does). I stayed after school for 3 hours today, and I feel like all I did was put my work into colorful folders and orderly stacks. It isn’t done, but now I know exactly what and where it is.
Every adult I see during the day asks me when I’m due. I wore a blouse today that has a little ruffle on the empire waistline, and it makes me look bigger than I am. I’m big, though. Big enough to make people’s eyes bug out when I tell them I have six more weeks.
Six weeks! Can you believe it? I love it when people tell me how this time has just FLOWN by. Maybe for them it has. Every second of the first 12 weeks lasted an eternity. The nausea, the depression, and the fatigue combined with the beginning of a new school year with a brand new textbook did not make for fleet days.
I’ve been going in for monthly ultrasounds to check the baby’s growth, and if all looks good at this next appointment, I suspect it will be my last ultrasound. Fine by me. Those appointments cause me so much anxiety, I am happy to be done with them forever.
Forever. This is my last baby. I said that to my mother the other day, and she said, “That’s what I said after you! And I was on the pill!” Sure you were, Mom. Sure you were. Needless to say, I have a younger sister. Odie and I have a more permanent birth control solution in mind. I’m not sure I trust myself to avoid the allure of ONE MORE BABY that is sure to accompany approaching menopause. Even though I’m almost 40, and even though this pregnancy has been a rollercoaster of worry about chromosomal defects related to advanced maternal age, I think that biology reigns supreme, and I’ll be weeping when I pack away those 0-3 month onesies. So, snip, snip it is.
Sunday night, staring at my two year-old sleeping in her toddler bed, looking like a CHILD and not a baby, I felt so thankful there will soon be another infant in my arms. I’m not ready to say goodbye to babyhood. I predict that I will feel that way times a thousand when this girl I’m carrying blows out the 2 candle on her cupcake.
I have a friend with four children. She had a tubal ligation with her last cesarean. Her daughter was about 18 months when mine was born. She, her husband, and their youngest came over to meet Baby V in the first month of her life. The way my friend, mother of four, took my baby in her arms, then looked longingly and imploringly at her husband, I knew that but for her surgical procedure, there’d have been a fifth kid. And a sixth.
Nature made men to love making babies, and women to love snuggling them and smelling the tops of their heads. Perfect design. The species will continue.
For our part, however, our contribution to the advancement of the human race ends at two.