Poor Samuel. Someday when he’s eight or nine he’ll be reading this site and go, “Moooooooom, you never wrote about me like you did Lyyyyyyyyydiaaaaa!,” in a whiny voice.
And I’ll say, “Well sweetie, that’s because Lydia was being whiiiiiiny all the time back then, just like you are now, only with a dash of tantrums included. My poor pregnant self had no time to write about the quiet child all cozy inside of me.”
But Lydia is choosing to sleep late this morning (the best Mother’s Day gift ever!) so I’m stealing a moment.
Sputnik is chugging along; I’m 33 1/2 weeks right now, so I’ve started that long 10-week march — 6 1/2 weeks, 6 1/2 weeks — and I am ever so ready. I have carried this one higher than Lydia and it’s been tougher to breathe and eat, though apparently I don’t look all that pregnant, just thicker. In fact, I’m not even wearing maternity shirts! My regular ones are getting by just fine. I do have the stretchy pants, though, as my hips have totally stretched out. Good for birthin’.
A few weeks ago we finally got a move on the room, and it is now painted and muralized. I always wanted to paint murals on my walls as a kid (my plan then was to paint dolphins and killer whales) but I was never allowed, so now I get to paint on my kids’ rooms. Life is awesome!
As with Lydia’s room two years ago, I painted all this the day I was off for my birthday, though this time I managed to completely wear myself out and was practically immobile by Sunday.
Even with the former office turning into another nursery, Lydia really has no clue. All she said when we got the crib together was, “Night night! Night night!” and motioned to be let in the crib. Oh man, her world is gonna be rocked. Ours too, baby girl, ours too.