While I’m posting this a few days late, the picture in this update really was taken at seventeen weeks (or, at least, what I think is the seventeen week mark). Between the raging crud my kids and I have been sharing, and the massive computer issues that I will discuss in a different post, this is the first chance I have gotten to do an update.
Folks, I look pregnant.
Last Wednesday, at the end of our youth activity, I was talking with one of the girls about when I was due and the fact that I’m only a couple of weeks off from the ultrasound. Another girl, overhearing (well, actually, overSEEing since the girl I was discussing it with is Deaf) said, “You’re pregnant again?” When I confirmed that I was, she told me, “Yeah, I kind of wondered, but I didn’t want to ask and have you think I was saying that you look fat.” Smart girl.
The other day, I was sitting with Wyatt and said something about the baby in my tummy.
“I believe you that there is a baby in your tummy,” he told me, “because it is starting to get round.”
Oh, just wait, it gets better.
Yesterday, Caleb was sitting behind me on a chair. He wrapped his arms as far around my waist as he could and started patting the sides of my stomach.
“I like your big tummy,” he told me with a smile.
Earlier in the week, Caleb was standing in front of me patting my “big tummy.”
“There is a baby in there,” I told him.
Standing on his tiptoes, he moved his hands a little further north.
“Are there babies in these?” he asked.
Um, no. At least Sean got a good laugh and a chance to make some comments under his breath. I’m so glad that I can provide a little comic relief.
Earlier today, I was reading a post by another pregnant blogger, Heather at Dooce, and was shocked by her description of a recent dream. I guess it is that collective subconscious thing, but I had basically the exact same dream a week or so ago.
In my dream, I woke up in the hospital with no recollection of having given birth. Despite my apparent unconscious-for-days state, we were preparing to leave with our new baby. I had given birth to a little girl with dark hair.
“They needed a name for the birth certificate, so I told them to use the name Aniah,” Sean told me.
I became furious. There is someone else with a significant role in our lives named Aniah. Because of the relationship, I would never EVER give one of my children that name. Just like (much to my husband’s dismay) I would never give a child the name his brother’s stillborn daughter was given. There are some names you just don’t use. In the dream, Sean kept assuring me that the hospital had told him that we could always change the name later if we decided that it wasn’t right. Um, right.
Two more weeks and I will know the gender of this little person. Then I can break my self-imposed ban on baby name books and ensure that my kid will have a name I approve of—even if I’m unconscious when it goes on the birth certificate.