37 weeks.

Tonight I am hot and uncomfortable. This baby feels like she must be bigger than I am, and I definitely have torpedo belly. In the morning I will be full term. And I am trying my best not to wish away what might be my last 0-5 weeks of pregnancy. Ever.

I watched David make airplanes out of spoonfuls of almond butter tonight, and Atticus had the biggest smiles ever. The three of us went to the park today and just walked across the grass. We talked about the birds in the trees and hit things with sticks. Life is about to change. A lot. And I can't wait. But it is awfully precious as it is, just me and my boys.

Even though I am not, never have been, never could be, one of those women who say, "I love being pregnant," these are some of my last moments feeling a person move and kick inside me. There is something beautifully feminine and vulnerable about pregnancy that I had never felt before. So even with all the sleepless nights and uncomfortableness and pain of it, there will probably come a day when I will miss it. Maybe. At least that's what I'll try to tell myself for the next month-ish.

introspection.

I took homeboy to the library and he walked around the children's section saying "Happy birthday" to every kid he saw.

We had our midwife's home visit today; the one that means that the baby can come any time now, and that she can be born at home because she wouldn't be too early even if she came tonight (!!!). All of Olive's (say that out loud) little tiny pink clothes and blankets are sitting in her co-sleeper next to our bed now, because we had to have the birth supplies ready for inspection. Atticus has learned to squeal, "ooohhh baby!" just like I do, apparently. She has some really cute things to wear, okay?!!?

So. Being the world's foremost authority on over-analysis, I think a lot about what kind of mother I want to be, and what kind I don't want to be. I DON'T want to be the screaming or yelling kind. This is sometimes very difficult. It's so easy and natural to yell - yelling gets his attention quickly, I've always had a quick temper, and sometimes us introverted folk learn to overstate things as compensation for what we often leave unsaid.

Anyway. Atticus is a great reminder of why not to yell. When I mess up, he buries his face in something and takes in one sobbing little breath. Breaks my heart. I know that "Attachment parenting" isn't for every parent (although I may or may not be persuaded that it is for every child), but I am soooo grateful for the attachment I have with my boy. He trusts me, and I understand him. He is very affectionate. He likes to fall asleep holding my face squished against his. He rarely throws fits, but when he does, they're usually solved by a hug from mommy (but of course I do not give in to the actual object of fit-throwing). He's a sweet little guy - stealing toys, hitting, pushing, etc. are completely normal toddler behavior - but not for him. And of course I know that I could just be getting lucky so far in all of these things I love about him, and they could change tomorrow, but for now I'm thankful that there is nothing terrible about his twos.

Insert random picture of him throwing rocks into water: "I drop it!"

some days are like that.

Today my morning went a little like this:

Realize Atticus is still sick. Eat a donut.

Clean up house from the aftermath of my sick day yesterday. Eat a donut.

Take the boy outside to play. Share a donut.

Run inside for water refill, watch through the window as Atticus sits down in the mud. Eat a donut.

I bet this will help me get well fast.

In other news, David took him to the optometrist yesterday. Atticus is very far-sighted and needs glasses ASAP, and will probably need them his whole life. I know that it's really no big deal and that lots of kids need glasses and that he'll get used to them. I know that it could be much, much worse. I know we're extremely blessed to have a healthy, smart, happy little guy. But I cried.

I felt like I made him wrong. (I know, that makes no sense.) There's something wrong with him that he'll have to deal with forever. He's about to be that "fragile" toddler, more than he already is (since he's small for his age). Anyway, I took my sad half-hour yesterday, and we're movin' on. So, when picking out glasses for a not-even-two-year-old-boy, can I still make "cute" a priority over durability and whether they will stay on?