This is the little baby who cried wolf.
To be perfectly honest with you, I don’t blame our baby. I blame the pastor who preached such a wonderful sermon at our church this past Sunday.
[Well, that seems reasonable.]
As Brian and I near the end of our carefree parenting days in a man-to-man defense and move into a zone defense, it seems fitting to publish the rest of our family/maternity photos. It’s difficult for me to imagine how different our lives will look and feel this time next week.
I had an OB appointment this past Tuesday, and I AM actually making some progress in the laboring department. So, it appears that you all should hear some baby news from us by the end of next week if not sooner, Lord willing!
Aaaahhhhhhhh, St. Patrick’s Day. The day I remember from childhood as an excuse for all the little girls with green scrunchies and embroidered, clover jumpers to run around pinching the crap out of those of us who forgot to wear green to school.
I’m pretty sure Saint Patrick is the patron saint of mean little girls.
I know I promised I would publish the rest of our family photos this week unless, of course, something else happened.
Well, something else happened.
Several weeks ago I received a message from my precious friend Donna to ask if she could throw me a baby shower in Georgia. First of all…let me just stop right here so I can confess something. Thoughtfulness is probably not my super power.
If you listen closely, you can hear my family violently nodding their heads in agreement.
I’m forgetful. I’m self-centered by nature. I’m a procrastinator. And I can be selfish with my time.
If there was a support group for people like me, NO ONE would show up for the meetings.
Last September I had dinner with my dear, childhood friends Liz and Donna. Liz was in her third trimester with twin babies (her 3rd and 4th kids), and I recall that she was lamenting her overall state of discomfort. She had weeks left before she was officially full term, but Liz said she would have let the doctor rip her open that moment—right on a table in the middle of Panera Bread—to end her suffering.
Okay, those are my melodramatic words, not hers.
I was at the barely-there baby bump phase of this pregnancy, and I remember encouraging/lecturing her on the importance of carrying full term and the absolute atrocity of c-sections for the sake of the mother’s comfort or convenience. Shame on these mothers for wanting to rip a child out of the womb before he or she is fully developed, I thought to myself. Shame on them!
Oh…stupid, stupid Katy.
Does that title seem too negative? I sure hope not. It’s just that I’ve never been a huge fan of Valentine’s Day. I believe it is nothing more than a day when the candy, flower, greeting card, and tacky stuffed animal industries all conspire together to hike up the price of their products 500% and tell us all that we are thoughtless should we choose to not purchase them. Because, my fellow Americans, there is no greater symbol of love and affection than a bag full of stale, heart-shaped antacids that has been on a display shelf at Target since the day after Christmas.
Actually, I believe comedian Jim Gaffigan said it best:
“I know I make you nauseous. Here’s a TUMS with ‘hug me’ written on it.”
There comes a time in the natural course of parenthood when a mom or a dad realizes they have to let their little ones go. As parents, we all know it’s coming. And, yet, it doesn’t make that moment any less difficult or emotional.
For some, that moment comes when they send their little ones to day care or preschool for the first time. Many parents experience it every. single. time. their kids reach a new milestone like eating solid foods, potty training, or their first manicure. These parents will post a photo on Facebook and say something ridiculous like, “I can’t believe my little baby is already _________. It seems like only yesterday when _________.”
Then the rest of us roll our eyes and say to ourselves, “Ugh. I’m so sick of hearing about all these perfect parents with their perfect kids. I’m quitting Facebook.”