The first time, when I was pregnant with Vito, is all magic. It's just me and this new life inside me. All I did was focus on him and him alone. I devoured books on pregnancy, followed week by week the development of my growing baby. I slept and rested all day if needed. I ate only healthy food. I religiously took all my vitamins. I was on the dot with all my tests and appointments, the lab results all filed neatly in a clear book. My first pregnancy was love.
The second time, with Iñigo now, was easy, too. Vito was (and is) a fiercely independent child. When he was just three months old, he'd push me away when he was done breastfeeding. He only asked for me if he wanted to eat or to play or to cuddle. He was happy to be on his own. He made motherhood so easy because I always had time for myself, my husband, my friends, my work. Even though he was only a year old when I was pregnant with Iñigo, he understood what was going on with me, and he preferred playing alone or with his friends or with his Papa than to bother his slow, sleepy pregnant Mama.
|Vito demanding I get out of bed and play. Well, it was 9 am! Lazy mommy!|
This third time I'm pregnant, however, is very hard. Iñigo is a clingy child. This second son of mine, he can't let go of me. He refuses to let me out of his sight. When I'm in the bathroom, he pounds on the door, crying. He follows me everywhere. He's really like that, since he was born. Iñigo's always happy when I'm within touching distance. So I always brought him along with me, carried him in a sling, did all the attachment parenting things with him, even breastfed him exclusively till just a few days ago because I read that breastfed toddlers are more independent than formula-fed ones.
I don't really mind. Well, okay, I do sometimes, especially since I don't like clinginess—from parents and my friends and even to my choice of husband. My parents knew that I was a better daughter when they respected my need for distance. My friends are like me. We just pick up where we left off and that could be weeks and months in between. Vince isn't high maintenance. He's not the type who wants to be with me all the time. He doesn't reply to texts. He doesn't call except if there's an emergency. As long as he has his books and his writing, he's fine. He and Vito are exactly the same. So when Iñigo came along, I didn't really know what to make of him. Except love him, of course, and if this is how he wants to be loved then so be it. But now that I'm pregnant, I'm just too exhausted having someone stuck to my skin nearly 24/7.
|How can anyone resist that guy? Seriously.|
It's just not Iñigo, of course. Having no household help and yayas, Vince and I are constantly caring for the kids. Plus, there's the house. It needs to be cleaned, vacuumed, wiped down. Food has to be cooked, dishes need to be washed. Clothes need to be laundered, folded, steamed. So when the kids are asleep, Vince and I take turns working and housekeeping.
I can't eat properly. I can't sleep when I want and as long as I need. I forget to take my prenatal vitamins. I haven't been able to schedule my lab tests. I haven't even been able to just bask in this pregnancy. Today, as I was cooking dinner, I recalled that when I was pregnant with Vito, I wouldn't even cook because I didn't want my tummy, which was at level with the stove fire, to get hot. That was how much I took care of myself, to the point of silliness. Now, who has the time? Kids need to be fed. House needs to be cleaned. Work needs to be done. I don't even blog anymore, unless it's a sponsored post. There really is just no time to sit down and type. To stay sane, I just get on my phone when the kids are watching TV and scroll through Facebook.
The other night, I felt the baby move. I was so amazed. It's always an amazing thing. I focused my thoughts on the darling baby, "There you are. Please be alright. I know Mama's not taking care of herself. I know I'm not taking care of you, but please know that I love you and that I think of you." And that last part I felt guilty about because that's not really true. I don't think about the baby. I forget that I'm pregnant because I'm always running around, washing butts, picking up toys, sweeping crumbs, yelling at the boys to stop hitting each other while I'm cooking their lunch. I'm too busy with my kids to think about the child I can't see.
Please pray the baby will be as perfectly healthy as Vito and Iñigo. Thank you, everyone!
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