I am at 27 weeks and taking it carefully. "Doomsday" high-risk doctors say I am to be the "last to get up in the morning and the first to go to bed"--and then reality kicks in because when Everett is up, Everett is up.
So far, so good. We are holding strong. The baby always has his hand to his mouth when he gets his picture taken--funny how we develop habits even before we leave the comfort of the womb.
We've been talking with Everett about how he will be a big brother, reading books about what that means. He doesn't get that. But, he gets what a baby is. Since we've been talking about the baby so much, he has taken to holding and playing with the swarthy baby doll that we have here. I taught him how to wrap it in a blanket, and he thinks it is cool to cuddle with the baby wrapped up tight. He also gives the baby a ride in his $1.91 grocery cart that I found at a thrift store last week.
While I was at Girls' Night this past Friday, the boys held a "Hurricane Hanna Party" and part of the dance moves included the "baby belly." Everett, since the party, has a better understanding that I have a baby in my belly. Early the very next morning, Everett wanted to show me the dance move. Here is a picture of all of us, with the boys ready to do the baby belly dance. I must admit I found it hysterical. (it was very early and my hair reflects that. no, I'm not *that* much taller than Erik, I am standing on a mattress pad we put out for the dance floor.)
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We are in the middle of Purge Week. I find that I get frustrated because I can't lift, move, or push stuff around very much because of the fear of overdoing it. Which means I have to wait for someone else to do it for me. Which means that I can't be independent. Which I hate. I'm taking it in stride, though, and am consistently grateful for Erik's help.
