Baby Number 3: 31 Weeks

We've made it to 31 weeks!  

Not that I'm even the littlest bit surprised, considering I went well past 40 weeks with both Bailey and Gerry.  I have no stats on this baby, beyond the fact that he's a normal size and a normal weight and moving right along in terms of growth.  Poor thing doesn't even have a name yet and the walls of his bedroom are still a soft pink, left over from when Bailey was the occupant.  

Such is the life of a third baby.

We've got the crib set up and ready to go, and I'm almost positive that I'll have a clean set of sheets on that mattress before we bring him home.  He's got a dresser with clothes inside, just waiting to be worn.  My bag for the hospital is absolutely NOT packed yet, and I don't plan on even attempting it for another few weeks.  I can distinctly remember when I hit the 32 week mark with Bailey and my sister found out I hadn't packed a bag yet.  "What?!" she screeched.  {Yes, she screeched}.  "How do you not have your bag packed and waiting by the front door?!  You're going to go into labor and HAVE NOTHING READY TO TAKE WITH YOU!!!"  She had me so freaked out that I packed a bag that night, nearly convinced that I was going to give birth before the following morning.  Bailey was born nine weeks later.  Nine weeks.

With Gerry, I packed my bag at 36 weeks.  I was so very, very hopeful that he would be born on or before his due date.  I took my time and carefully packed a few outfits for him and a few for me, being sure to include things like chapstick and a book and photos of Bailey (who was 2 and a half by that point) to focus on during labor.  The bag sat in the trunk of our car for what felt like forever, until Gerry was forced out at just under 42 weeks.

This time I'm not rushing.  I refuse.  We have a coming home outfit washed and ready for the baby, and I have a general idea of what I'm going to pack for myself.  Beyond that, nothing.  I don't even know where the actual bag is.  I'm sure I'll find it accidentally in the next few weeks.

Bottom line, I'm trying really hard not to let myself get too stressed these days.  At my last prenatal appointment I damn near fell off the scale when it showed my weight.  That was a number I'd never seen before.  I had to check my pockets afterward to make sure Gerry hadn't slipped an anvil or something in there before I hopped on the scale.  

He hadn't.

My glucose test came back totally normal, but my hemoglobin is fairly low.  Which explains the ridiculous exhaustion I've been feeling lately.  So I'm taking iron pills twice a day and filling up on leafy green foods as often as I can.  

And have I mentioned the stomach pain?  

I generally try not to complain too much during pregnancy, thought I'm sure my husband will tell you otherwise.  But a few weeks ago, I noticed that the skin on my belly was really starting to hurt.  I assumed it was the literal tearing of a stretch mark, slathered on some lotion, and went on my merry way.  Fast forward a few days later, and I realized that my stomach would start really hurting by the end of the day.  Like, hurt from the inside out and was tender to touch.  I just kept on slathering on more and more lotion throughout the day.  A week later, I was feeling almost constant pain from about 4pm until I passed out for the night.  Moving and bending over made it worse, and pressing on the area was simply out of the question if I wanted to stay conscious.  So I brought it up at my prenatal appointment a few days later.  After a somewhat painful exam, it was determined that I've got a few torn ligaments and an abdominal hernia.

Gross.

And, also, ouch.  And there's not a doctor around who will even attempt to fix the issue until after this baby is born.  So, that's something new this time around.  I'm resting as often as I can with 2 kids and a full time job, but damn if I'm not near tears by the end of the day.  And it also doesn't help that the baby is in there just ninja kicking around all day long.  I love him, but damn.  Settle down, kid.

My life right now

So that's where we're at these days.  Pain on top of the usual sciatica and back issues.  At least it gives me something else to focus on, right?  I'm nothing if not positive, you guys!

Now, we're just counting down the weeks until little man makes his arrival.  I'm due March 30th, but I've pretty much got it in my head that we won't be seeing him before early April.  And I'm okay with that for now.  Scott and I have decided that we'll name him after we meet him, which is an entirely new concept for us.  We had Bailey's name picked out the day we found out she was a girl, and Gerry's name was chosen before we had even gotten married.  So this complete and utter indecision is entirely new and I think we both feel a little weird about it.  We're going in with a short list of names that we like, and we'll figure it out from there.  Hopefully.

In the meantime, we're hanging in there.  Gerry is as crazy as ever and Bailey is loving the Kindergarten life.  I could do with a little less energy from both of them, but we're getting by.  And now we're down to single-digit-weeks {hopefully}...baby will be here before we know it!

Happy Birthday, Gerry!

We celebrated Gerry's 3rd birthday yesterday, and he had SO...MUCH...FUN.

Birthday plans were a little scattered this year with this new pregnancy and the craziness of daycare and Bailey being in school, so we threw together a party for our boy {almost} at the last minute and took him, his cousins, and a daycare friend to one of his very favorite places on this earth--Chuck E. Cheese.

To say that he had a good time would be the biggest understatement of this century.  He spent the majority of his 2-hour party looking like this:

Look at that face.  Pure, unrestrained joy.  I love that about him.  Also, for those not yet in the know, this picture was taken in the Ticket Blaster.  It's basically a see-through tube that your kid stands in with goggles on and enough air blasting to send hundreds and hundreds of tickets flying around.  The object is to catch as many tickets as possible while they're flying...Gerry caught one, and that was only because it blew into his mouth.  He spent the rest of the time in there jumping up and down with the world's most giant smile on his little face.  To him, this was magic.

He got to meet Chuck E. Cheese, play all the games, eat pizza and cake and ice cream, and generally have the time of his life.  And he did.  He was so happy.  It was, quite literally, the best birthday he's ever had.

After the Chuck E. party, we had yet another cake for him with family at my parents' house.  More sugar, more candles, more fun.  Seeing that smile on his face all day long was just incredible.

Which leads me to the meat of this post.  My son.  I won't post his birth story  again {though you're welcome to click that link and read it}, but I'm about to go all sappy mom because it's his birthday and my kids' birthdays always make me sentimental.

At 3 years old, Gerry is crazy.  To put it mildly.  He's loud and rambunctious and goofy.  The second his feet hit the floor in the morning he's on the go and he doesn't stop until he passes out for the night.
His favorite color is blue.
He loves most foods.
Bailey is one of his favorite people in this world.  They fight like most siblings do, but he misses her when she's not here and he looks for her when he wakes up in the morning.
Paw Patrol and Mickey mouse are still at the top of his list as far as favorite tv shows and toys to play with.
He LOVES his doggie blanket.
He has less than zero interest in going on the potty.
He loves to run around and be silly.
He absolutely will not smile a normal smile for a picture these days, unless I catch him off guard.  Otherwise, we get these goofy faces out of him.
He doesn't hold back his emotions.  Any of them.  When he's angry, he yells and stomps his feet.  When he's happy, he walks around with a big smile on his face that just can't be contained.  When he's feeling silly, he lets it all out and runs around with no clothes on.
He loves to make people laugh.
He's a bit of a mama's boy.  And I kind of love it.
As wild and crazy as he is, he has a sweet side that not many people have the privilege of seeing.  He gives awesome hugs and kisses, and he's been known to ask us if we're okay if and when we "seem" to be in pain or tired or sad.
He's great with babies, but rough with the big kids.
He has one knock-knock joke in his repertoire, and he plays it on repeat.  And still thinks it's the funniest joke in the world.
Chick-fil-A is his Mecca.


I love this little boy more than I ever thought I would or could.  He's 3 years old now, but he'll always be "my baby" in my eyes.  And I can't wait to see what this next year brings him.