Ways in Which my Fourth Pregnancy has Turned Me into a Toddler

I’m pregnant.  Again.  31 weeks pregnant to be exact.  This one was not exactly “planned,” so to speak.  I ran into an old high school classmate last week, one who was about as pregnant as I am with a toddler about as old as Red.  And as she so succinctly put it, “so this one was a surprise too, huh?  ‘Cause you’d have to be crazy to plan on having kids this close together, right?”  Which is pretty much how I felt when I put two and two together last February and took a pregnancy test.  Crazy.

Anyway, I’ve now had time to (for the most part) get used to the idea that I will have four kids in five years.   I’m even finding some positives in the whole barrel of insanity that will be my life.  I can see the fun to be had with so many kids this close in age.  At this point what’s one more, right?

But pregnancy.  Ugh.  I’ve never been a super pleasant pregnant person.  I’m not one to marvel over the amazing things my body can do in pregnancy.  I’m more likely to crab over the million annoying side effects (number one on my list: the weird way my sinuses get completely blocked during the nine months my womb is occupied.  I’ve cornered the market on BreathRight strips.  I’m thisclose to wearing those things during daylight hours.)  The novelty of pregnancy wears off with each successive pregnancy and this fourth one is for sure the absolute worst.  And then, because I have a three year old and a one year old, I realized that this pregnancy has turned me into a freakin’ toddler.  Let me explain:

Exhibit A.) The Hangry Toddler Meltdown.

Red is pretty known for the “Hangry Meltdown.” When she gets hungry, it comes with a side of anger.  And now, in my third trimester, I can relate sister.  On more than one occasion I’ve found my hunger growing as I prepare meals for the kids.   By the time I’ve doled out three cheese sandwiches with fruit and yogurt I’m not only starving but also irritated that these small people get to eat before me.  The longer it takes for food to make its way into my mouth, the more the rage grows.  Heaven help the kid that asks for more milk just as I’m sitting down with my own lunch.  I’m not proud of it, but irrational, over the top tirades about how “mommy just wants to eat her lunch with out getting up to refill milk fifteen times” have been delivered to dumbfounded and slightly terrified children.  I’ve wanted, on more than one occasion, to throw myself down on the ground like Red and just cry.  The only thing that stops me is the fact that my giant belly makes getting up difficult.

Yep.  This.  I get it Red. 

Exhibit B.) I keep toddler sleep hours.

In the first few months, when my normal first trimester exhaustion was enhanced by the fact that I was still nursing Red, I slept when she slept.  Meaning I put a show on for Toots at nine and passed out while Red took her morning nap.  Then I slept again at one when both girls napped.  And then I went to bed at seven with all three kids.  And I was still exhausted all the time.

All I want to do is sleep.

 Now, in the third trimester I’ve graduated to a sleep schedule more like Toots.  A nap around 1:30 or 2:00 is probably a good idea for me, especially if we’ve had a busy morning.  Like Toots, I can push through and skip that nap but it makes for an ugly evening.  If Toots and I have gone hard all day without a siesta we’re a mess by 5pm and need to be put to bed by 6:30, usually crying.  It’s been a bonding experience for the two of us.

And finally, the icing on the freakin’ cake:

Exhibit C.) My bathroom habits are identical to a potty training toddler

You guys.  I can’t even.  I didn’t think it could get any worse than when I was in the final weeks of my third pregnancy with Red.  My poor bladder was like the guy who should have probably retired five years ago.  Still working, but not super effective   Toots was potty training at that time and there was definitely an afternoon when we both peed our pants a little at Target.  At the time I thought that was as low as it could get, pregnancy humiliation wise.  This time around my bladder didn’t even try to pretend like it was still up for the challenge.  As soon as that pregnancy test revealed a plus sign my bladder put the “Gone Fishing” sign on the window and booked a first class flight seat to Vegas.  Where it’s apparently remained for the duration of my pregnancy. 

I pee all. the. time.  Everything makes me have to pee.  The sound of the shower makes me have to pee.  Hearing someone else peeing makes me have to pee (which is fantastic when I am constantly taking small children to the bathroom all day).  If I take a sip of water, thirty minutes later I’m running to the bathroom.  And I’m absolutely running because for some reason, with this fourth pregnancy, by the time my brain registers the need to pee, it’s five minutes too late.  When Toots was potty training she would get to the bathroom and say, “I just peed a little bit on my underwear.  But that’s ok.  It’s just a little bit.”  Yep.  I get it.  I’ve lost the ability to hold it. 

Also, that thing with toddlers where you make them pee before you leave the house and then, no matter what, thirty minutes into your tour through Mariano’s, with a cart full of groceries, you’re rushing down the aisles to find a bathroom?  Welcome to my life.  I have to plan my outings around the every 45-minute bathroom stops I will need to make. 

Maybe I should just succumb to it, wear batman underwear and no pants, 50 necklaces and not leave the house again until the baby comes.  This is how Toots rocked potty training.

You guys, please someone who has survived four pregnancies please tell me this will get better?  I’m not going to be stuck like this forever right?   Someday when I sneeze I won’t also pee a little too?