Tomorrow will mark the 8 week countdown for Baby Boy's arrival.
Did you hear me?
I said 8 WEEKS!
And I'm nervous that by my calculations:
# of Kicks per Day Acceleration of his Movement
Rate of Growth Speed x Deacceleration in My Movement + Heartburn
there's a good chance that I might take this kid out myself.
Literally, I'm just waiting for the ball, or rather - balls - to drop. (Sorry. I know that was very elementary school but it was just too easy of a joke to not take it.)
If all goes according to plan, however, Rafaella will be one and a half when Baby Boy is born - not potty trained, barely eating on her own, just mastering walking/running, starting to communicate well, and still licking the occasional flip flop. I try not to think too much about the insanity that will descend our household for the next incalculable # of days/months/years and stay positive in the many people we will have helping us, and the amount of support our friends will provide for us, and the excitement of having a new little baby - and a boy at that.
I can't help but wonder, in the same way I did with Rafa, what he will be like and look like. Will this one look more like Daddy? Will he and Rafa look alike? Will he be a sensitive artist type (haha Laura!) or a whirlwind athletic chap?
At the doctor last week, Rafa weighed in at 26.2 pounds for her 15 month appointment putting her in the 90th percentile for weight (the average weight for a 15 month girl being 19 - 27.5 pounds) and measured in at 33 inches putting her in the above 100th percentile for height (the average height for a 15 month girl being 28.75 - 32.75).
She's a big kid.
Will he follow suit? Will Husband and I have two dinosaurish children roaming the Earth?
With how my belly feels now, I have a feeling he's going to be mammoth. I have only gained a total of 14 pounds during my pregnancy so far and feel like 13.5 of those pounds is all Baby Boy. He jabs like a boxer and moves like Jagger all throughout the day.
I wonder sometimes, Is this what Bella felt like in Breaking Dawn: Part 1?
Jokes aside, I can't believe that in 8 weeks we will have Baby Boy in our arms: tiny, fragile, new to the world Baby Boy, to rock and feed and wake up with at all hours of the night. I can't believe we get to do this all over again. I'll be eating my words, I'm sure, then, but right now it's kind of exciting to do it a second time - this time knowing what to expect.
With Rafa it all went so fast. That first month was so hard that like a roller coaster at the top of that first fall, I closed my eyes and hoped to God that I'd get through it. I remember moments like flashes. I remember not being sure some days if I had brushed my teeth or throwing on the same house dress just to say that I was "dressed." I remember leaving the house and not remembering what the outside world looked like or how I fit in it, shielding my eyes like a vampire (or Gremlin depending on your generation) from sunlight. I remember her morning naps giving me enough time to (a) take a shower, (b) make breakfast and eat half of it, OR (c) check emails - ONE not all three. I remember the times that she pooped on me or at me. I remember the frustration of breastfeeding and the victory of getting her to sleep.
But I remember all of these things clumping into one flash like they all happened together and so fast that before I could store them in my brain's memory they were gone. Poof!
My hope is that with Baby Boy we can take it in more; we can experience it more instead of holding on for dear life and being scared that we weren't buckled in.
As I say this he throws a hard jab to the left rib -
Did you hear me?
I said 8 WEEKS!
And I'm nervous that by my calculations:
# of Kicks per Day Acceleration of his Movement
Rate of Growth Speed x Deacceleration in My Movement + Heartburn
all divided by Feeling that Pubic Bone might Fall Out...
Literally, I'm just waiting for the ball, or rather - balls - to drop. (Sorry. I know that was very elementary school but it was just too easy of a joke to not take it.)
If all goes according to plan, however, Rafaella will be one and a half when Baby Boy is born - not potty trained, barely eating on her own, just mastering walking/running, starting to communicate well, and still licking the occasional flip flop. I try not to think too much about the insanity that will descend our household for the next incalculable # of days/months/years and stay positive in the many people we will have helping us, and the amount of support our friends will provide for us, and the excitement of having a new little baby - and a boy at that.
I can't help but wonder, in the same way I did with Rafa, what he will be like and look like. Will this one look more like Daddy? Will he and Rafa look alike? Will he be a sensitive artist type (haha Laura!) or a whirlwind athletic chap?
At the doctor last week, Rafa weighed in at 26.2 pounds for her 15 month appointment putting her in the 90th percentile for weight (the average weight for a 15 month girl being 19 - 27.5 pounds) and measured in at 33 inches putting her in the above 100th percentile for height (the average height for a 15 month girl being 28.75 - 32.75).
She's a big kid.
Will he follow suit? Will Husband and I have two dinosaurish children roaming the Earth?
With how my belly feels now, I have a feeling he's going to be mammoth. I have only gained a total of 14 pounds during my pregnancy so far and feel like 13.5 of those pounds is all Baby Boy. He jabs like a boxer and moves like Jagger all throughout the day.
I wonder sometimes, Is this what Bella felt like in Breaking Dawn: Part 1?
Although, not to to toot my own horn (but I'm tooting), I definitely don't wonder if I look like her in Breaking Dawn: Part 1.
Jokes aside, I can't believe that in 8 weeks we will have Baby Boy in our arms: tiny, fragile, new to the world Baby Boy, to rock and feed and wake up with at all hours of the night. I can't believe we get to do this all over again. I'll be eating my words, I'm sure, then, but right now it's kind of exciting to do it a second time - this time knowing what to expect.
With Rafa it all went so fast. That first month was so hard that like a roller coaster at the top of that first fall, I closed my eyes and hoped to God that I'd get through it. I remember moments like flashes. I remember not being sure some days if I had brushed my teeth or throwing on the same house dress just to say that I was "dressed." I remember leaving the house and not remembering what the outside world looked like or how I fit in it, shielding my eyes like a vampire (or Gremlin depending on your generation) from sunlight. I remember her morning naps giving me enough time to (a) take a shower, (b) make breakfast and eat half of it, OR (c) check emails - ONE not all three. I remember the times that she pooped on me or at me. I remember the frustration of breastfeeding and the victory of getting her to sleep.
But I remember all of these things clumping into one flash like they all happened together and so fast that before I could store them in my brain's memory they were gone. Poof!
My hope is that with Baby Boy we can take it in more; we can experience it more instead of holding on for dear life and being scared that we weren't buckled in.
As I say this he throws a hard jab to the left rib -
oh boy... this is going to be a fun ride.
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