The internet says I am 9 weeks, 5 days pregnant. Sad to say, but I think this is going to be the longest pregnancy ever. And I’ve had some long pregnancies. I know, count my blessings, I’m keeping most everything down and gaining some actual weight. I’m able to generally keep everyone fed and happy. The dishes are done, eventually, and the laundry is clean, albeit thrown into piles in a corner of my bedroom. The kids have been picking socks, underwear, and jeans off the floor for weeks.
I just have no energy and I’m nauseated 100% of the time. I dream I am throwing up. And you know you are pregnant with a toddler when your two-year-old lifts up the toilet lid and pretends to heave into the toilet, with a proud grin on his face.
One of our biggest concerns about getting pregnant was the fact that I would out of commission for another year of our lives. And after months of thoughtful discussion, we decided to go for it anyway. We prayed about it and got a very clear answer. Something along the lines of, “It’s up to you. Either way is fine. You are kind of gluttons for punishment but know that everything will be all right.” And with that, we made room for #4 in the family.
I don’t think the kids will be scarred for life. At least I hope not. (Christopher, on the other hand…)