my life is good

It only took me the better part of three years to figure out how to post pictures in the sidebar, but at last I have succeeded. What do I win?

There are very few things in life that are predictable, so I'm always a little surprised at how ordered pregnancy is. At week 13, like clockwork, the symptoms of early pregnancy disappear. And as I am nearing the end of the second trimester, set your very slow watch by it, my second trimester energy is diminishing. I feel very, very pregnant all of a sudden. Not big, so much, but just - I'm suddenly aware that all of my available energy is going into growing and chasing babies. This morning, by the time both Asher and I were showered and fed, the breakfast dishes were done, the diaper bag was packed, and the car was loaded, I was ready for a nap. It was only 8:30 a.m. Knowing that I'm not even big yet, and that it's not even hot out yet, and I already feel this way, makes me want to cry. Then take a nap.

Every pregnant woman I have ever known at some point has said to me, "I am never doing this again." Most of the time they don't mean it. So don't take me too seriously. I love the result. Really, it does no good to ask me how many babies I want to have, because I want as many babies as possible. What you should ask instead, if you want a true estimation of the direction of our family, is, how many c-sections do you want to have? How long do you want to be emotionally unstable? How many miscarriages are you willing to potentially have? How many major life changes do you want to have? That would be a truer measure. Babies are priceless. But all that it takes to have a baby - that's different.

In the meantime, Asher refuses to stop growing up. He's morphing into his own little person, and vacillates between doing the opposite of whatever I ask of him and clinging to my legs. It's all part of developing an identity, I know, and most of the time I have the patience for it, but it makes for some funny moments. My favorite this week was on Saturday morning, when he was trying to pull something from the kitchen counter. This is Not Okay in our house, so I told him no and moved him away from the counter. In response, he bit me. BIT me. Which earned him a trip to his bed, of course. Normally, when he's put in his bed he protests, but this time, there was silence. I walked out of his room and heard, rather than tears, a little voice calling, "Daaa." As in, "Dad, I pissed Mom off, will you come rescue me?" I was so glad I was already out of the room, because there's no way I could have kept a straight face for that. Brian responded, "When you bite your mom, you're on your own kid."

So, my life is good. I keep chanting that phrase because it's the truth. I can forget it in the moment, but a frustrating or exhausting moment is not the same as discontentment. My life is good. My life is good.

Happy Monday, everyone.