One More Day

Tomorrow. Is. The. Day.

Since February 16, when I found out I was having my third (FINAL...and I mean it) child, my emotions have gone back and forth. A lot of that is just pregnancy. I was testing myself this morning, wondering which I'd prefer: nine months of pregnancy or nine months with a stent and kidney stones. I don't mean kidney stones in lieu of the end result where I have a little ball of snuggle. I just mean, condition-wise, which is worse to deal with on a daily basis. It's a toss-up.

I don't know why I seem to be the only woman in the universe who does not enjoy being pregnant. When people tell me I just should, I wonder what it is they expect me to do. I've tried. I closed my eyes real tight, thought happy thoughts, filled my heart with my life's greatest moments, and even produced a Patronus, but in the end, after all that work, I still feel like a ginormous cow whose underpants will never fit again. I feel achy-ness in my everywheres and my face looks like someone attached it to a helium pump and I'm more aware of my insides than a hypochondriac should be. And don't get me started on morning sickness, carbo-hunger, and the fear of eating the wrong thing. Top that all off with the judge-y looks from the experts--which is apparently everybody, including men, did you know?--and the liberal touching (can I grab your stomach?), and you've just pushed me over the edge.

But there is a flip side. I'm open and willing to accept that the Universe knows something I don't here, and that I was meant to have this baby whether I was ready to or not. And the time is now. Not much I can do about that. It's exciting, you know? To find out that you're going to get something you never thought you'd have. And it's not like it's a puppy or a million dollars. It's a whole person. Someone who will bring something brand new into our unit. Because that's how I think of us. We're not a family. We're not a group of people living in the same house. We're a unit. We function separately. We are our own persons, but we also exist together. For each other. We were a pizza of four slices. Now we'll have  a whole extra slice. How will we fit into the box? Who will be the cheesiest? (If you're thinking me, you're wrong; it's probably Joe.) Who will be our spice? Who will be the bacon? Who will Baby be?

Which begs the question that has been nagging at me more and more each passing week: What will Baby be?

In the beginning, because the pregnancy was such a surprise, I was overwhelmed by the fear that something would be wrong. But so far, all tests, sonograms, and appointments have shown I need not worry. So then I started to focus on the more trivial things. Names. Decor. Is it a girl.

On the one hand, another boy will fit right in. We have all the right toys. We have all the right movies. We have princess movies, too, but nobody watches them. We'll keep saying, "Where are the boys?" when we refer to our collective children. I'll continue to be the only one complaining about gross-nasty bathrooms.

You get the idea.

Plus, I'm stubborn and difficult and dramatic and a lot of fire all rolled into one person. I can't imagine producing another one of me and us living together peaceably.

But then...wouldn't I love someone to watch a princess movie with me, and not out of pity? Wouldn't it be special to see my boys have a little sister to be protective of as she grows? To have them scare all the boys she brings home when she's a teenager?

Wouldn't Joe love to have a little girl stand on his feet while they dance around the living room? To dance with his daughter at her wedding?

Little boys love their mamas in a way no girl can. I don't care who wants to argue that because I know in my heart it's true. Growing up, I hated, HATED, when my mother said she didn't love my brother more, she just loved him different. EQUALITY! I demanded. I can do anything he can do better! But now I know. Now I get it. It is different. And if you have a boy, you have true love forever.

But a little girl could grow to be my very best friend, like I did for my mom. (She totally loves me--can't live without me, actually...you should hear her beg me to come over so she can cook dinner for me and my kids every day.) Or a little girl could hate me. What if she hates me? Girls are nasty people sometimes, aren't they? What if I have a nasty girl? What if she's all, "I'm a Barbie queen, and I'm mean and backstabby and I'm going to be a teenage nightmare!" What if she repeats all my mistakes and...doesn't take my advice? That would be terrible. Awful! I give great advice. What a waste.

What if she lies to me?

Wait. What if Joey and Noah lie to me? Well, Noah actually does already. I say, "Who broke this?" and he shouts, "Daddy!" and runs the other way, which is really worse than lying because it's lying and falsely accusing an innocent person.

But I mean, what if they lie to me in a big way? I know what you're thinking. All three of my kids are probably going to lie to me, aren't they. And I have a confession to make. A secret to reveal. A shameful truth. I'm super, super gullible.

Boys or girls, I'm doomed, aren't I?

Oh, well. One day at a time, right? At least it's only one more day until tomorrow, when I'll finally know. Stay tuned!