The Difference a Year Makes

A year ago, this was a huge day. November 4th is still burned in my brain as the day that my pregnancy with Felix hit “full term” status – the first and only time in seven pregnancies that I could get that to happen. I held on to that date as a horizon point through a really tough pregnancy, not totally believing that we’d get there but hanging on to the idea that I might get close.

Spoiler – I made it. I actually went six days past and he came out big and beautiful and ready for the world.

I love my kids but I hate being pregnant because it makes me completely nuts. I get really hopeless when I’m pregnant. Like, doom and gloom end-of-the-world stuff. I’m also terrified of doing anything that might interfere with the baby so I can’t take any of the mood stabilizing things they’ve come up with, even though I bet it would be a night and day change on how much I enjoy the process. Instead, I make a thousand micro-deals with the universe and it’s usually along the lines of “if I can get to this time next year with a healthy baby, I’ll never complain about X Y Z again”.

It’s silly, but it also works and I never take it for granted. Getting everything you asked for goes a long way to forcing you not to seek out new problems. Or rather, to remind me that the problems I have (laundry, family finances, a million pediatric appointments) are exactly the problems I wanted.

You guys. He’s almost a year!



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