I've also concluded that I like pregnancy less each time I am pregnant. With Naomi everything was so new and exciting, the wonders of new life within me far overshadowed the discomforts of carrying a watermelon under my skin. Now that I've experienced every wonder five times, it seems far more appealing to be the only one living in my body again. I feel slow and awkward and breathless and tired and sore, and this child seems determined to make an exit straight through my abdominal wall any minute now.
So I make an effort to lay down each afternoon now, but it is easier said than done. It takes more than ignoring the housework to get rest in this house. The baby protests with squirms and kicks each time I cease moving, and I'm sure he's crying with all his might in there. I smile and think, "Cry all you want now, baby. I can't hear you!" but those powerful kicks to my ribs can be hard to ignore. Toby has been protesting his nap as well lately, and some days I have to settle for resting and listening to him ram trucks together in the room next door. Usually my girls are relatively well behaved when I rest, but occasionally a fight does break out over who had the idea to dress the baby doll as Queen Lucy first, and adult intervention is required.
|Toby, over a year ago, sleeping with kiki and vacuum|
Last night I had the usual interruptions to my sleep: a perpetually squished bladder and a restless baby inside me, Toby peeing through his pull-up all over his sheets, Emma wanting to sleep on my floor because she had a bad dream, and Naomi complaining of a mysterious ache in her arm, but at least we had the kiki. And, with kiki in custody, I have every intention of prioritizing rest again this week, for whatever it's worth.