17 Weeks

When I was pregnant with Luke, I worked 20 hours a week and napped on the couch the rest of the time. I was always worried that the baby would suddenly die and for 39 weeks and 2 days, I lived in the fear that I would never get to meet the child I so longed for. Every day felt like it lasted for decades and I could. not. wait. until it was over and I could finally hold that baby in my arms.

Now that I'm pregnant again, I don't work at all. Except that in reality, I work about 120 hours a week and sleep for the other 48. When I sneak in a nap, I'm sandwiched between two dozing toddlers who snore and squirm and roll closer to me in their sleep, cuddling in as close as they can and drooling on my arms in the process. My common sense tells me that it's still a good idea to expect the worst and hope for the best, but I no longer have the time to dwell on doom-and-gloom scenarios and I no longer live in fear.

And this time, as eager as I am to meet this new person and hold him or her close, I'm aware that these next few months are precious. These are (hopefully) the last months during which McMoose and I get to have an only child, the last months during which Luke gets to be an only child. The last months when our plans revolve around one child's nap schedule instead of two. So while I count the weeks with excitement, I also hold my toddler-baby a little bit closer in anticipation of the time when I'll have to ask him to wait his turn for a hug or a story while I finish changing a diaper or rocking a newborn to sleep.