So Tonya's been acting funny lately.
(Of course, she'd probably say that I've been acting funny, too.)
You see, she's been feeling a little under the weather. But it's the way that she's been feeling under the weather that's caught our attention: she's been feeling sick to her stomach, nearly any time that she hasn't eaten in the last hour or so. So long as people keep stuffing food in her, she's fine.
She's become a little absent minded lately, too. The other day she gave the Adrenaline Junkie three potty times in a row. And each time she put the Junkie's shoes back on, they went on the wrong feet--three times in a row. Then there was the time she put her food on one of the kids' plates, and the kid's food on her plate, which of course resulted in a little girl becoming distraught and wailing. (The Pillowfight Fairy is very particular about this kind of thing, apparently. But then, she's only five.)
And, oh--she's been feeling a little clumsy lately too. Now, she's noticed that she's been feeling clumsy, and so she's been intentionally moving a little more slowly; she doesn't try to move heavy objects (like the Happy Boy) without focusing her full attention on what she's doing; and she's stopped juggling flaming knives. But she still occasionally bonks into things.
And, um... don't tell her I said this... she pees a lot too.
Now, as I mentioned above parenthetically, I've been acting funny too. My wife has noticed that I've been running into things as well, for instance.
Let's just hope it's not for the same reason that my wife is. ;-)
Well, we were both noticing these symptoms, and getting very, very suspicious, so we went ahead and did the pregnancy test this morning. And, um...
Let's just say that I'm going to have to come up with another blog-appropriate nickname between now and May 16th or so. And let's face it, that's pretty hard to do, at least until the baby starts kicking. By the eighth month or so, it's possible to start referring to the imminent bundle of joy as "The Gymnast" or "The Placekicker" or "The Rockette", but before that, we don't really know the baby as anything more than a fuzzy blob on a black-and-white printout. Interestingly enough, when we were expecting the Pillowfight Fairy, we were having trouble visualizing her (partly because she was our first, and partly because we didn't know whether she was going to be a boy or girl until she was born); so I remember thinking of the baby as some kind of amorphous "entity", like the "entities" that they run into from time to time on Star Trek--something weird, alien, without well-defined shape, and of unknown intention. Given that this will be our fourth kid, we're a little more mentally prepared; we have a slightly better idea of what we're getting, so we're actually more able to visualize a little person in there than an alien life force.
(As opposed to an Alien life force, which would be bad.)
One thing, though; I have a little request.
Whenever a couple gets pregnant, there's always the question of whether and how long to wait to tell everyone. The fact is, the first Trimester can be pretty scary; the baby's life is so fragile during this stage, and it seems that anything wrong can end the pregnancy very suddenly and traumatically. For this reason, many women--justifiably--like to keep the pregnancy a secret until this time is past. After all, if you tell everyone that you're expecting, and then the baby miscarries, you then have to deal with the trauma of telling everyone that you've miscarried.
The trouble is that if nobody knows that you're pregnant and you miscarry, then you have to explain to everyone why you're so depressed; and most don't want to do that , so they suffer in silence.
We've decided to tell everyone right here at the beginning, knowing full well that the first Trimester is a dangerous time, in part so that all of you who believe in God can be offering up prayers on our behalf, for a healthy baby and a safe delivery. Tonya is forty-one years old after all, which officially makes this a High-Risk Pregnancy (like every one of our previous ones, incidentally. Thankfully, maternal age is the only thing that's been high risk about her pregnancies).
And this is Tonya's fifth pregnancy that we know of (we've had some suspicions about some other times as well). One of those five didn't go past the 9th week.
So again, we ask for your prayers.
All goes well, we'll have a new addition to our family on or around May 16th.
And just so you know, we haven't decided whether we'll ask to know the sex. On the one hand, if you know in advance, it makes it easier to prepare for the coming of the baby--you know what to name the baby, for instance, and you can buy clothes in colors other than green and yellow.
But on the other hand, there's a sense of mystery and excitement when you don't know in advance. It actually makes the whole process a little more fun--and makes for more interesting office pools. :-) And besides, we have plenty of hand-me-downs for both boys and girls, since we've had both.
I think we're hoping for a boy this time, since we already have two girls and only one boy so far. Another boy would balance things out. Now, we'll be perfectly happy with a healthy little girl too, of course; as my wife likes to put it, "Ya git what ya git and ya don't throw a fit." But still, having a second boy would help out down the road when we have to figure out bedroom/sleeping arrangements for everyone. With two of each, you can stick both boys in one room, both girls in the other, and everyone is equally ticked at everyone else. With three-versus-one, you can only have a boy and a girl share a room while they're both still fairly young; eventually you have to put them in different rooms, and then (in a four-bedroom house) you have two people having to share a room while the other two each get their own, and that's so unfair and you don't love me as much as you love them and I'm not going to talk to you ever again.
But that's when they're pre-teens. What was it that Jesus said about borrowing trouble from tomorrow when today has enough trouble of its own? Great! I'll not worry about that one just yet.
Nor will I worry about the elevated possibility that a 41-year-old mother will give birth to twins. :-) Nope, not gonna think about it. At all.
(Good grief, where would all the car seats fit?)