Now that pregnancy is coming to an end I’m feeling nostalgic about all the little things I’m going to miss.

Little things I didn’t blog about but that deserve a mention.

Like the other night at 4 am when I wanted applesauce. I couldn’t get any of the jars open so I went back to bed sobbing, but not before emailing Cody (yes, at 4 am) informing him that there were 4 unopened jars of applesauce and a sad pregnant lady in his midst. He wrote me back saying “You could have woken me up to open it.” Yes, yes of course Cody, because it would have made perfect sense to you why your very pregnant wife was standing over you crying with a giant jar of applesauce at 4 am.

I replied “In an effort to maintain a modicum of sanity in your eyes, I wrote the email instead. Hope you understand. xo-Red”

Another little event that deserves to be mentioned and recorded in any pregnancy is the first time you wallop a stranger in the back of the head with your belly in a crowded restaurant.

Then there was my checkup last Thursday, it’s been awhile since I’ve had to do the whole “paper drape” at the doctors office and I forgot just how flimsy the damn things are. While trying to tuck the sheet under one butt cheek I ripped the other side. While trying to tuck the ripped side under my other cheek I ripped the original side and was left with nothing more that white paper streamers covering my nakedness. Ah yes, this is the stuff memories are made of.

I started composing a song about losing feeling in my legs on the way to the mailbox today. I really feel it could be a chart topper in the country music scene.

One thing with this pregnancy that never really happened with Addie are cravings. My third trimester shall always come with images of me hunched over a cutting board in my kitchen shoveling triangles of seedless watermelon into my mouth at a furious pace. In fact, I just polished off a quarter melon moments ago. I’m sure Cody will be left with a mental image of me pounding Cheerios every night before bed.

My stomach is so full of human that painting my own toenails became a joke back in January. Shaving my legs? That became comical in February and today? After getting out of the shower and realizing there was no way I was bending over to dry off my legs I just took to flipping the towel at my legs hoping that either the towel would whisk off some of the moisture or the breeze the towel produced would leave me with somewhat dry skin allowing me to put on underwear without it getting all rolled up and bunchy as it stuck to my still damp skin.

Really, these are all things I want to remember. Promise. If for no other reason than to really laugh at them when I have abdominal muscles back and I don’t run the risk of peeing a little if I let out a good guffaw.

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Awhile ago I was asked to try out a new site called MamaMemoirs, it’s an online pregnancy journal for everything from “I’M ONLY 34 WEEKS BUT MEASURING 39!! (true story)” to “No watermelon in a 8 mile radius is safe from my voracious craving right now.” It allows you to add pictures, link your flickr and share your posts with just yourself, your family or the entire world (aka facebook.) While I personally haven’t used it for the exact reasons listed above, I kind of wish I had. I decided to use it as a way to document the huge virtual baby shower so many of you have taken part in. Collecting stories, cards, photos and well wishes from dozens of friends, because when this is all over? I’ll be able to have it made into a book ($30-$40) that mozzi and Addie will be able to read about how much we were loved before we even became a family of four.

Not to mention there is a place for information and photos from parties and showers as well as a whole area dedicated to your labor. And after Mozzi is here? The format will automatically switch over allowing me to keep track of Mozzi’s first years. (like the moment the umbilical cord falls off unsettling everyone in the house…especially if the cat runs off with it…so much good stuff.)

An account is free during pregnancy and can be started the moment you get that positive pregnancy test, because you control who sees it you can keep it updated and private until you’re ready to announce your news to the world. As soon It’s also especially handy if you’re not a blogger but want to have some sort of tangible record of the 40 weeks that is the hilarity of pregnancy. Adoptive mom? You don’t have to start with pregnancy, you can enter your baby’s birthday and start tracking their first year, from the moment you first saw them to the moment the papers were signed to their first steps. (There is a $19 fee to continue using the journal after pregnancy.)

Sound good? I know my first reaction was “THEY DIDN’T HAVE THIS STUFF WHEN I WAS PREGNANT! (with Addie that is.)”

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What do you always want to remember from your pregnancy? Because I know I’ll always remember the look on that guys face when he turned around and realized he had just been pummeled in the back of the head by my protruding stomach.

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DISCLOSURE: I was compensated for my time in evaluating, working with and creating my own profile with the MamaMemoirs team. All statements and opinions are my own honest ones. Pinky swear.

I made it.

I’m full term.

There’s a human in me that could come out tomorrow and become president in 35 years.

This feels like a dream. I keep waiting to wake up.

On the left, the day I found out about mozzi, about 4 weeks. On the right, today. 37 weeks.

I guess now’s the time we all start guessing when I’m going into labor and just how big this kid is going to be.

Addie came on her due date, I went into labor around 9 am, she was born shortly after 4 pm. She weighed 6 lbs. 14 oz. and was 19.5″ long.

Phew. This is real.

Thank you for sticking by me.

xoxo

Dear Casey,

I don’t want to be all “I told you so,” but really, you should have written this post as it was intended three days ago when you woke up from a dead sleep thinking about it. Now things have changed, there has been an emotional shift in your very existence and that letter you wanted to write yourself? Won’t be the same now. But instead of I told you so I’ll do the best with what you’ve left me with.

This baby thing is going to be hard the second time around. Six and a half years is plenty of time to forget about newborns, diapers, strollers, feeding schedules and naps. Not to mention the whole breastfeeding thing. Do you even remember how often babies have to go to the doctor? Or the crying? I’m not sure you do. But regardless you have been losing sleep over the excitement and joy of holding that tiny little baby in your arms. You have spent hours in Mozzi’s room rocking in that old yellow chair thinking about how long it’s been since someone has fallen asleep in your arms.  Your mind gets lost when you think about sniffing a warm, fuzzy little head and the anticipation of those tiny contented baby sighs? Better than Christmas. There was even a moment during the hospital tour where you got so excited about what’s going to happen that you actually had to squelch a squee.

You’ve done an awfully good job at enjoying every moment Mozzi has spent in you. I know you’re sad she has to vacate the premises, but there’s two other people that live with you who can’t wait to hang out with her too. You’re going to have to share sometime, and sometime is coming soon.

Which is where the emotional shift has happened.

This is really happening. Sunday you’ll be full term and so many worries that plague pregnant women will be behind you. It’s really all down the birth canal from here. There is going to be blood. There is going to be pain. There are going to be tears. There is going to be an adjustment period. There are going to be quarrels in the name of exhaustion. I know Cody doesn’t want to you to get all bent out of shape about any of it because things ARE going to be different this time. But at the same time I understand how you work. You need to feel out those worst case scenarios…contingency plans. They’re how you roll. They’re how you survived law school, lupron, depression, infertility and parenthood the first time around.

I have to say I am so proud of you for taking care of yourself. Yes, you lost a lot of friends in the process, but you had to take care of you. You took naps when you needed them. You have never felt guilty for going to bed early or taking a long bath when you hurt. You ate what you wanted to when you needed to and you even managed to gag down those prenatal vitamins. Even more importantly? You asked for, and got help when you needed it most. You are happy today because you have taken care of yourself and allowed others to take care of you over these last 36 weeks.

The perfect balance of appreciation and self preservation.

Finally, the latest and greatest of your worries. That man you’re married to. I know you feel as though you just got him back, that you guys finally figured this marriage thing out and now you’re going to have to share him with not one but two other ladies. He loves you so much. I would guess it’s natural to fear and question if your relationship will ever be the same, there’s some rough months ahead for you two, full of sleepless nights and leaky boobs. But you’ve already made it through so much. I know the reason you’re so scared is because you love him so much it hurts. He’s yours, for time and all eternity. Like he said today, he’s not going anywhere, and even more importantly, school is over. (Psst, Cody! Casey’s favorite flowers are peonies. Buy her some when they come in season, okay? Thanks.)

Keep taking care of yourself. This will all go by so quickly. Don’t roll your eyes at me. You know I’m right. Nipples can only stay bloody for so long. There will again come a day when all of your laundry will be folded and put away. One day you will even get to sleep in. Or shower. Or nap.

It’s going to be hard, but good hell if it isn’t going to be worth it.

xoxo- yourself.

43.5 inches.

That is the circumference of my waist this evening.

4 weeks from my due date with my second baby.

28 days.

A period.

I used to live my life in 28 day increments.

I am 28 years old. My birthday is on the 28th of April.

This year was my golden birthday.

Golden indeed.

I said it was going to be good and good it was.

There is even a chance it will end with me having my long awaited baby on the last day of my golden year.

(But I’d really rather that not happen, no offense, I really don’t want to share.)

I have been craving watermelon and Mexican food.

I have spent the last week nesting. And not just “kind of” nesting. But serious down to business there may be chapter about this being a problem type nesting in the back of some pregnancy book nesting. It happened with Addie too. Two weeks ago I was happy to be somewhere soft and horizontal and at 4 am Monday morning suddenly EVERYTHING needed to be done RIGHT NOW.

My very existence has been overtaken with parallel vacuum lines and perfectly dusted baseboards.

I had an astronomical to do list tapped out on my iPod on Monday morning. I checked off the final thing last night.

Pack a bag for the hospital.

Because I’m going to be having a baby. Any day now really.

I am so happy. So excited.

But there is still this lump. This phantom pain in the back of my heart.

While it seems as though everyone drank from the same fountain of fertility and found themselves pregnant, I know this isn’t true. I know because there are women left without their babies. Babies they are waiting for. Longing for. Desperate for. I know many of them are staying quiet, back in the shadows because their pain is all to real, and very much at the forefront of their mind.

They’re living their own 28 day trial right now, be it pregnancy tests, adoption papers, medical exams or results.

Every time Mozzi moves I drop what I’m doing and place my hand on my swollen belly. She’s in there and she’s mine.

My little miracle.

My daughter. (Well, okay, confession, I’m still convinced it’s a boy.)

28 days isn’t nearly enough time to appreciate how far I’ve come and how blessed I am.

But I guess that’s what eternity is for.

Taken at 28 weeks. When I was still kind of nimble and could get off the couch without mooing.

Dear doctors who have been/will be treating treating me,

Please stop being so surprised when you touch, measure, feel, weigh, look at or talk to me. Look, girls don’t take kindly to surprised comments let alone medical observations. I know that when I answer the door and my friend says “Whoa, bad day?” that I’ve looked better. I know that when Cody comes home and says “Oof, you’re not doing so well are you?” I most certainly resemble a warm shade of death. So when I lie down on your medical table with my giant belly exposed and you mutter something about “Whoa! Well…” with your eyebrows raised as you turn and scribble something down in my chart?

Keep your expressions to yourself buddy.

Unless you’re going to finish that sentence with “Whoa…well you’re the most lovely pregnant lady I’ve ever had the pleasure of treating” I don’t want to hear it. Same goes for those weird questions like, “Sooo, do big heads run in your family?” I can only assume that I’ve suddenly become that golden goose for that medical study you’ve been working on for so long.

And I swear, if I get in that delivery room with my glory spread for this baby to come into the world and someone dares to utter any level of “Whoa!” in my general direction. I’m going to fight you. Or aim my placenta at you. Whatever.

Sincerely,

Casey

Being pregnant and/or having a new baby puts a giant (GIANT) “PLEASE! JUDGE ME OPENLY!” sign on your forehead. And the backside of your birthing hips. And across your enormous pregnancy boobs. There also seems to be a flashing neon sign that radiates from your entire existence.

Why do you have a crib bumper?

She’ll have bad teeth if you use a pacifier.

In my day we would have never worn maternity clothes like that.

If you even so much as dip your toe in that hot tub your going to boil your baby.

Why are you taking medicine?

Why are you eating that?

You’ll be breastfeeding won’t you?

Why aren’t you breastfeeding?

Your baby will be fat if you use formula.

Don’t hold that baby too much, you’ll spoil it.

Your baby looks hot.

Your baby is going to freeze.

Your baby is hungry.

Your baby is tired.

You look tired.

You know it wouldn’t hurt to brush your hair.

Did you know you have stains on your shirt?

You’re not supposed to carry babies in slings.

Babies who spend too much time in strollers cry more.

Did you know your baby has a grenade?

WHY DON’T YOU LOVE YOUR BABY?

I just learned today that not only am I going to be suffering from premature cleavage wrinkles, my baby is also going to be born green and with a third eye because I didn’t spend $70 on a blanket. That’s a lot to handle before 9 am.

I want so desperately for my boobs to work this time around. I was so emaciated by the time I delivered Addie my body was not going to be giving up any more calories to sustain anything or anyone else but myself. Addie was formula fed after three long weeks of nursing, bottle feeding, pumping, brewers yeast, supplemental nursers, an almost devastating brush with Reglan and a La Leche league member who caused me to throw a phone.

Addie is not fat, she has no food allergies, no seasonal allergies, no asthma, she has had two ear infections in her entire life and aside from the weird little barfing thing she has? She rarely gets sick. She can count to 100 three different ways, can read better than I could at 8, has the fine motor skills of a surgeon and the coordination of a Manchester United goalie. (More or less, she gets a little clumsy during growth spurts, let’s be honest.)

This is a kid who was not only formula fed but was sustained through pregnancy on Gatorade, macaroni and cheese and IV’s. AND! She had a crib bumper.

I’ve done the best I could so far with that little kid and she’s turned out swell.

I think we’re all trying to do the best we can with these little lives that have been entrusted to us.

I have to have faith that my instinct with this next one is better than Nosy Nancy’s observations of what I’m supposedly doing wrong.

Besides, Nancy probably doesn’t even realize how awesome babies look with grenades.