This Month's Topic: Focus on Finance

A Note to Future Me

In March, my sisters and I start to talk about bedtimes and routines.  However, I’d like to take a minute and talk about bedtime in February. It might kill me to look back at this post in a few days, but what the heck.

I haven’t had the baby yet, and I’m 39 weeks, three days pregnant. It’s getting rough… My ribs hurt, it takes everything in my power to get up and go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, much less roll over, things are going numb after lying on one side after awhile, heartburn is my new best friend and my nose is always stuffy. I’m probably up a total of two to three hours at night. With all of that said, I need to state for the record that I am so darn lucky. Do you hear me, me? Lucky!

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My little boy, Noah, has always been an incredible sleeper. Starting at 5 months old, he was sleeping almost 12 hours through the night and was a solid napper. He gave up his morning nap at 15 months, but even so, I could (and can) always count on him to take an hour-and-a-half to two-hour nap in the afternoon. He also goes to bed at night as happy as could be. Adam and I have had a wonderful routine from the get-go. The books, the songs, the hugs and kisses, and then we tuck him in and walk out the door. I don’t remember the last time Noah gave us a hard time at bedtime. Sure, the teething days would wake him overnight, but he was always able to settle himself back down. I could count on one hand how many times we’ve had to go in and comfort him in the middle of the night since he’s turned 1. This is not bragging. It’s the truth. This is me telling future me that I should never have wished this pregnancy away.

Yes, pregnancy is tough. The last few weeks of pregnancy are especially tough. I am so uncomfortable, but I covered that earlier. I have found myself praying to God, to anyone really, for my water to break, for contractions to start, for something to happen that will end this misery, but (surprise, surprise!) here I am, on our new blog (made for just this kind of reflection and revelation), realizing how incredibly stupid I have been. Who cares that I’m uncomfortable and can’t sleep? It only affects me (and Adam when I ask for his pillow in the middle of the night and, when he’s up, for a bowl of cereal). Soon and very soon, we’ll have a newborn. At that point, not only will I be uncomfortable (for a good two weeks postpartum if I remember correctly from last time), but there will also be a screaming kid who needs to eat. (I’ll put it out there that I’m going to breastfeed again, but I did not enjoy it with Noah). And, on top of all of this, Noah’s whole beautiful routine will be ruined! He will inevitably hear the crying and cry himself. Maybe he will adjust quickly and learn to ignore it, but not at first. No child is that amazing…

And so, Adam, Noah, the new baby and I will begin a new journey. One that I am only just thinking about now (not too bright, this one).  How can I take back all of those prayers for labor? I need to savor it, savor the quiet nights. The nights when I know I can sit and watch TV, read or have a conversation with my husband at 8:15 without fail. The nights when I can wake up to go to the bathroom and get back into bed without having to also breastfeed a baby. Sure, I’ll get to sleep on my stomach again (eventually, anyways, after the initial fun of breastfeeding subsides), but that isn’t the same thing. Therefore, little baby, stay as long as you’d like.

OK. I take that back. I really don’t want to have a 12-pounder … you just can’t come back from that. Little baby, come soon, but not too soon.

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