Still pregnant! I’ve never been this impatient before. The reason for this is because on Holy Thursday round ’bouts 5pm, I began having true, blue, time-able contractions. The kind that start in my back, wrap around to the front, radiate down my thighs and make me feel like imma puke.
After 2 hours of these puppies going on for a minute to a minute and a half long, every 4 minutes, I was like “Craig, don’t freak out but you better pack your bag.”
I took a nap at 7, and at 8pm, the contractions woke me up, more intense. They lasted til 10pm and I was mentally prepping for the bigguns to catch fire.
We laid down with our boys, and I tried to doze …and I noticed the contractions occurring further and further apart.
Next thing I know, it’s 3am and I’m up with a full bladder but no more contractions.
Good Friday the contractions puttered on and off, for a few hours they were time-able, but then they just fizzled out.
By the time Saturday rolled in, I reckoned to Craig that we should go mall-walking like an old couple because this was just stupid. I further realized we better find some quick Easter garb for the boys because it was looking like we’d be going to Mass come Sunday.
Old Navy pulled through nicely.
Surely I’d go into labor on Saturday night.
So we made it to Mass for Easter Sunday. The boys all got A’s for their performance report, but still I was super crabby and during the SIGN OF PEACE, I turned around to shake hands with a lovely mama who gave me a pitying look and said, “Ooh! I hope it’s a girl this time?”
And I, full of my Easter joy gave her my most candid BRF and said, “Mm- IT’S NOT.”
Yeah. Point 2 seconds after turning around I felt like the biggest, whale-est, awfulest BRF person in life ever. And thank merciful, risen Jesus Christ, that lady and her family happened to not be one of the Judas Iscariot eat n’ leave early folk, and I took the first second after Mass had ended to turn around and tell her I shouldn’t be allowed to speak to people and I was so sorry for being rude.
She was so sweet to me and nodded in understanding as she introduced Craig and I to her 4 young children and husband who happens to be one of SIX BOYS.
OY VEY, MA. Six boys.
4 doesn’t feel too bad, now.
But yeah… Craig and I decided a month or so back that we’d get an additional ultrasound and find out the gender because I discovered that as I purchased an adorable Etsy headband for the maybe-baby-girl in my womb, that IF we in fact did have a 4th boy, perhaps not having the few weeks to “mourn” the girl we both had prayed for might lead to postpartum depression. Maybe not, but I’ve never liked surprises anyway.
I’m glad we found out we’re having another boy because I was allowed to feel the feminist-crazy-rage toward penises for a week or two and be done with it. Really.
98% at total peace with it.
I’ve moved on to other things, like the fact that I was due yesterday, and we still DON’T HAVE A NAME for the child. We will, we always do.
Until we meet Mr. Mama’s Snuggly Bug, I just be like dis all day:
While my family watches me just like dat.