I was 34 years old when I became pregnant with Homeboy (my second fruit of my loins). My due date was September 26th...10 days after my birthday. When I went to see the doctor for my first appointment, she informed me that she wouldn't make me have an amniocentesis procedure (needle in my gut) since my due date was so close to my 35th birthday. Needless to say, I was relieved. But then I began to wonder why she would make me have the barbaric procedure done to me, just because I was 35 years old. So I asked her. Her response, "Oh, because any pregnancy the age of 35 or older is considered a geriactric pregnancy."
"Really!?!?! Must it really be called geriatric pregnancy?" I wasn't geriatric! Geriatrics involves broken hips, Geritol Aspirin, and talking about Edna being put in an assisted living facility.
Fast forward a few years, give or take, and now I do consider this pregnancy... a geriatric pregnancy.
I am so tired! I have no energy. I have no motivation. I am blah. Homeboy has become my servant boy. "Homeboy! Bend over and pick up that sock! Homeboy! I will pay you a nickel if you do the dishes!"
Well, it's not totally like that. But it's close.
I am almost 24 weeks pregnant, so far. I STILL have some morning sickness. For the first 19 weeks, I felt sick all of the time.
My daily routine was: Try to wake up Homey (at least 3 times), hurry and eat breakfast, lay down, sleep, force myself to feed Homeboy breakfast, lay down, attempt to get ready, lay down, eat crackers through out the day, run to the store (as little as I had to), try not to vomit, lay down, lay down, lay down and lay down.
Now, I just feel sick when I need to eat. I believe it will last until the day I give birth.
It. Will. Never. End.
(insert crickets chirping, and then silence)
Near the end of January, we found out what we are going to have! EVERYONE believed the baby was a girl. My husband did. My mom did. EVERYONE did. Heck, even a friend of one of my friends had a "vision" that I was going to have a girl. According the Chinese calendar, I was going to have a girl. All of my husband's living siblings had two boys and then a girl. It was meant to be! It was tradition!
I wasn't sure. One day I would think it could be a boy, and then another day, I thought it was a girl. I know that either way, I would love this baby no matter what! Even if it did come with a stem on the apple!
So when my doctor moved the ultra sound wand-thingy across my belly, I focused in on the area. He said that it's legs were closed together pretty tight and he tried to get the baby to move a little. Then he froze the screen and just as he was about to say what sex the baby was, I interrupted him.
"You don't have to tell me! I see it! It has a nubbin!" Meaning: my baby has a stem on the apple. It is definitely, a boy!
Oh crap, I am forever out numbered. I will be cleaning pee residue off of the bathroom walls, floors, tub, shower curtain, ceiling, and vanity, FOREVER.
My doctor then told me I could always try for a girl next time. I told him the only way I was going to be seeing him again for a pregnancy would have been the result of an immaculate conception. I will be closing shop, after this little one is born!
Once my appointment was done, I called the hubs and told him that he had defective sperm. We were having another boy. He was shocked and disappointed. He really wanted a baby girl.
On the way home, I decided to stop at the Babies R Us and shop for a cute baby boy outfit. But as I began to wander around the store, in search of a cute outfit, the reality began to hit me. I would never have that special moment of picking out a wedding dress with my daughter. I will never sew a blessing dress for her (I always dreamed of doing this!). I will never attend a daughter's dance recital or put bows in her hair. I will never help my daughter as she recovers from when she has her own babies. It hit me like a ton of bricks. And then I began to cry in the middle of the store. I cried all the way home and I cried for several more hours. All of my life, I believed I would have a daughter.
My mom tried to cheer me up and said, "Maybe you will have alot of grand daughters?" I told her to shut up. Not the best thing to tell your mom, but I was a little emotional at the time. It's not the same and she agreed. Everyone thought it would help by saying that girls are soooo dramatic. Uh, have you met Homeboy?!?!?! Whatever.
I tried to not have my heart set on having a girl, but deep down inside, I wanted one. Some may think this is a little selfish of me but I'm being honest.
The next day, I recovered and immediately began to wonder what baby boy #3 is going to look like. Will he be blonde like Homey, or light brown like Homeboy? Will this baby also have blue eyes like his brothers and daddy or green, like me. Maybe he will have a butt chin like his older brothers and daddy, also? Should I call him Homer, Homefry, or the Homester?
What I do know is, I KNOW for a fact, I already love him. I KNOW that I will think he is the cutest baby on the earth and I have no doubt that I will never regret having him be a part of our family. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think that I was going to be a mother for the third time. Just like his older brothers, he is special. There is a reason why he is to be a part of our family and I know that Heavenly Father made sure of it.
I am truly blessed.