the cardinal rule of pregnancy

When you suffer from infertility and have success, there is one rule that is punishable by death (or at least episiotomies and long labor): thou shalt not complain about pregnancy. Well, guess what? Screw the rule.

This pregnancy is HARD. We knew this going in. They told me it would be painful for me with all of my 'issues'. But I have been in pain for the past two years plus, so I thought it couldn't be much different. I was very, very wrong.

Yes, it is physically more painful. There is now a cantaloupe in my pelvis and it is pushing on my broken, diseased bladder and my intestinal adhesions. It is the sweetest, most loved cantaloupe in the world, but it is still brutal. But, the hardest part and the thing I didn't expect is the emotional turmoil involved when the pain knocks me to the ground and makes me cry out that I'm ready for the epidural NOW. I'm scared that something is wrong with the baby.

I'm doing my best to not be the crazy pregnant lady, and so far we've only called the on-call once, but every time I feel like peanut is taking a machete to my guts I'm terrified that she's in danger.

Each time we check on her she's doing fine - last time she was doing flips and ninja kicks in there - but it doesn't stop me from fretting. Because I'm crazy. Sigh. The peanut has a crazy momma.

But, since we verified she is, in fact, a SHE (and I win all the money in the world according to the bet I made with everyone), I'm guessing that she will have a certain amount of crazy in her too (just look at my mom - it's genetic (Hi Mom!)). Might as well get her used to it now.

What the peanut may be lacking in sanity though, she will not be lacking in equipment. We have purchased her a nursery (attached to a lovely four bedroom house) and it is scheduled to be painted this week. Then I can begin filling it up with truckloads of the most adorable baby girl stuff one can find. Sure, there will be a crib and a dresser and a rocking chair, but I'm talking about the good stuff. Bookshelves full of Little Golden Books. Tummy time mats with floating fish in them. Bumbos, and Exersaucers, and Gloworms, oh my. And how many pink dresses can you fit in a standard DR Horton sliding closet? My friends, we are about to find out.

Despite the fact that I had a momentary heart attack (figure of speech, as far as we know the hole in my heart is holding up just fine) when finding out we're having a daughter, I then remembered how very glad I am that we took some extra time before the babymakin' to put together a kickass peanut fund. I stress about money every day because, well, say it with me - I'm CRAZY - but I realize that there is no reason to stress when I'm logical about it. We've budgeted and re-budgeted and then done it again and somehow we have become ninja savers because what other people can't manage to do on two incomes we are comfortably doing on the boy's. Even if our little princess needs imported, lactose-free formula, and diapers made from pashmina, we have enough in the monthly budget for that. And I am OH SO thankful to my husband for being such an amazing provider and working so hard for us.

This is why he is sleeping in right now and the peanut, the beagador, and I are lounging on the couch and waiting for him to emerge. The Three (crazy) Musketeers.

Now that I think about it, he's slept in long enough!