Yeah, the most obvious is that I get a sweet baby out of the deal, but one of the best things is watching Jack react to being a big brother.
In February, when we found out I was pregnant:
He keeps asking me, “How many more days before I’m a big brother?”
Last night we were watching Dexter’s Laboratory and Dexter’s parents bought him a baby toy instead of the action figure he wanted. I told Jack, “Oh. I forgot to tell you. When the baby comes, all your birthday and Christmas presents will be baby toys so you can share them with the baby.” Do you know what my sweet little boy said to that? “That’s okay. I have too many toys anyway.” Awww. I told him I was just being silly and he would still get to have big boy toys just for him after the baby comes. Then I told him I was very proud of him for being so sweet.
He’s also always coming up to me and giving me hugs. He’s always done that, but now, he also gives the baby a hug.
He sings to the baby and he had his dad buy a set of teething keys the last time they went to the toy store.
He loves feeling the baby move. The other night while we were reading bedtime stories, Jack had hiccups. The baby also got hiccups, and when I let Jack feel my belly, he thought it was so cool that they had the hiccups at the same time.
I don’t know how I was blessed enough to have such a sweet little boy, but I really hope this baby is the same way.
Here’s my warning: If you’re trying to get pregnant or you really enjoy being pregnant or you CAN’T get pregnant, you probably don’t want to read this. I’m going to come across as really ungrateful to you.
I love babies. I loved my first son from the first moment I held him. But I HATE being pregnant. I don’t remember the first time being this bad, but I was 6 years younger and working full time, so I had less time to notice all this stuff.
I want to be able to breathe again. I want to be able to bend over again. I want to be able to eat more than five bites without being full, only to be hungry again 15 minutes later. I’m tired of going the doctor every two weeks so I can sit in the waiting room for an hour for a five-minute check-up. I’m tired of having a limited wardrobe. I’m tired of being water-logged. I’m tired of going to the bathroom every 15 minutes. I’m tired of trying to come up with a name that my husband I both like. I’m tired of EVERYONE asking me what we’re going to name him. I’m tired of being tired all the time. I’m tired of people remarking on how small I am. I would rather be small than huge, but why is it that a pregnant woman’s body is suddenly everyone else’s business? I have had people say, “You look good for 7 months (or 8 months or whatever)” I don’t mind that. It’s the rude remarks I have trouble with. At least this time, I haven’t had to deal with people rubbing my stomach. Really, people. Have some respect. Being pregnant does not negate the whole “personal space” thing.