I say that I’m “super” pregnant because, although this is my 4th kid, I’ve literally never been so pregnant.
I’m 2 days shy of being 32 weeks pregnant. That's 8 weeks more pregnant than I was with the boys. Eight. Weeks. I’m so thankful for each additional day. It feels nothing short of miraculous that as of yet, I've had no bedrest orders or restrictions of any type. I almost feel like a normal pregnant person (who just happens to have had 10 ultrasounds (so far) and at least 18 or 19 doctors appointments, plus weekly visits to the nurse for a progesterone shot. But who’s counting?)
Twenty-four weeks gestation is considered viability. Zach, Charlie and Cooper were delivered via c-section on day one of week 24, and their situation was so critical that we were given the option to forgo lifesaving measures. I’m not a extremely religious person, but one of my most vivid memories of that horrific day was, right before my c-section, holding hands with Brian and a poor random nurse (whose name I don’t even remember) and praying and praying for three miracles.
So anyway, on day one of week 24 of this pregnancy I had an ultrasound. Baby 4 was looking great, and my body was cooperating. Huge relief - big milestone. But on my way home from the doctor’s office, emotions took hold of me. There were tears because I knew that if Baby 4 were like his brothers, he would be born at 6:02 p.m. that day. There were tears for what Zach, Charlie and Cooper went through and for those 16 extra weeks they should have been cooking in my belly. And tears of relief for how well things were going this time, but out of fear for what could still happen. But maybe most of all, of joy as I was reminded at how extraordinary Zach, Charlie and Cooper - who seem virtually unaffected by their prematurity– are.
And as I try to keep up with them these days, I try to remind myself of their "extraordinaryness." Particularly while they are naked wrestling while I’m struggling to get them into the tub, chasing each other with sticks, putting syrup in each other's hair, making up songs about poop, deciding they have to pee the second I buckle them into their car seats (after swearing they did not have to pee 3 minutes earlier), changing clothes for the umpteenth time the same day and torturing the poor cat.
Some of my favorite lines from the past few months:
As they were intensely examining the contents of the potty after Charlie proudly declared that he had pooped (poop is the subject of extreme fascination around here):
Zach: Wow. It look like a banana.
Charlie: It look like a big car.
Cooper: No. That look like poop.
At the mall, while looking at the back of the Mini Cooper car on display:
Me: Cooper, what’s that’s say on the back of the car?
Cooper: (as he proudly spells out the letters) C – O – O – P – E – R. That spell “car!!”
When I was ironing something recently:
Charlie (pointing to the iron): No Mama! That's Grammy's!!