three

The dust has settled, the presents have been opened and the treats have been eaten (too many of them by moi) but the fact remains the same. My baby is 3.Excuse me while I sob violently.

Ok, I’m back.

I have to start by saying that this is a belated birthday post. Yesterday was the big day but my eyes began to droop before I could put pen to paper (or in this case, fingers to keys).

On her birthday, I can’t help but think about when the Baby was born just like I can’t help but think about the Buddy’s birth on his big day. I think it’s a parent thing. Or maybe just a me thing.

Being pregnant with the Baby was both more and less eventful than the Buddy. Everyone was healthy (Thank you, God!) and the end was, thankfully, the most boring part of the whole thing. I love boring births. Nothing scary and nothing traumatic. Routine. Ahhh, the beauty of routine.

This pregnancy was also full of gestational diabetes ( yes, again) but this time my pesky sugars had a mind of their own and refused to let a low-carb diet be the boss of them. This required medication. And with the medication came twice a week non-stress tests in addition to all of the routine checks. For the last ten weeks of my pregnancy, I became a regular at the doctors. Not my favorite thing but each test gave me an excuse to kick back and hear the Baby’s beautiful heart beat and count her little kicks. It put everything in perspective. I was blessed that I had a healthy little girl just waiting (patiently this time) to be born.

But along with this second pregnancy also came a bit of fear. Fear of what had happened with the Buddy. I would not be caught with my pants down this time. I would have my act together and get my house and self ready. Yes siree, I was ready for anything! Well anything except for the dangers of ‘Pregnancy Brain’.

Nesting + Pregnancy Brain = Disaster. I tell this tale not because I am proud of what I did but because I hope to impart a little wisdom (ha!) to any soon-to-be mommy out there that thinks boiling rubber nasal speculums in a pan of water to ‘sterilize’ them two days before her scheduled C-section is a good idea. In fact, it is not. Don’t do it. Do not trust your pregnancy brain/memory. It’s a fickle broad.  A double edged sword of brilliance and flakiness. Have a back up system – in this case a fire alarm – in place at all times.

So yes. I set a kitchen fire, complete with two foot high flames shooting out of a pan of burning rubber, just two days before the Baby was born. Not my finest hour. Luckily, some portion of my brain was still working and I threw a lid over the pan to put out the flame and got the Buddy and myself outside ASAP.

Enter awesome husband and mom. They took pity on the chubby ditzy pregnant girl and cleaned up my mess. Both literally and emotionally. And they did all of this without drawing attention to the fact that this mess was due to my incredibly (I like to think temporary) stupidity. Luckily, no serious damage was done to the house and after a few days of open windows and ceiling scrubbing we were ready to welcome our Baby. And heave a huge sigh of relief.

All of this craziness was so unbelievably worth it, though, that I would do it a million and one times over to have her again. She’s my sassy, stubborn and hilarious beautiful girl and I can’t breath sometimes when I think about how much I love her.  Happy Birthday, my sweet girl.

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