My husband digs me, my belly is big and so is my baby.

We were lying in bed this morning watching the sun rise when my dashing husband said the most romantic thing to me.

“ Hey Mel.”

“Hmm?”

“If we got divorced and I married someone new, I’d cheat on her to be with you.”

Awesome. Ten years in and the love hasn’t stopped flowing from those handsome lips of his.

Not the only demonstration of his unyielding devotion from the last twenty four hours. When I was too lazy to move my butt off the couch last night after expressing lofty dinner ambitions that involved me, a couple of knives and the food network, he made me a spicy meatloaf. Perfect fuel for the massive twenty mile run I went on with my running club later that night. Except replace twenty with two, run with walk and running club with Phin in a stroller.

And if we’re going to get technical replace two with one point eight nine. I hate my conscience for making me admit that.

In my defense, it took a really, really long time. First off, the stroller has an injury suffered when Phin shoved it under the treadmill while I was running on it. For real running. Swear. Ok, maybe gripping my stomach, begging for mercy and half jogging while Jared held a blow dryer to my face on the cool setting. I’m guessing Phin was just trying to stop the beast that appeared to be killing his mother. Either way that front tire is now wack.

Second, we had to stop and admire every green garbage can. Doesn’t help that today is garbage day. They were lining the streets.  

Last, I’m ginormous. That too puts a damper on my athletic prowess.  I have a ‘broid all up in my lungs. Nothing like giant, harmless tumors to slow a girl down. I currently measure fifteen weeks ahead. That’s an improvement. My belly has the shelf thing going on. 

See?

I won’t lie. I am so grateful to be pregnant, but dang, it’s hard this time. I hadn’t properly prepared myself for how different this go around would be. I want to be honest on this, but it’s tough when you have people jumping out of the bushes to tell you how much you suck for feeling the way you do. I know others have it much worse. I’m aware.

Really though, life is so good. I am trying to soak up every last minute as a family of three. I doubt Phin will ever remember the time he was the center of our world, but I will. I don’t want parenthood to come off as roses when it’s just not for so many, but my kid is such a crazy joy. There were plenty of tough moments that had me locking myself in the bathroom, can’t deny it when there’s pictorial evidence on this very blog, but crap. He is just so perfect for me. He still clings to me like a little spider monkey. He still pulls my face in for kisses when I get out of the car at work. He still wants his Momma when he feels his young little life has dealt him an injustice.

Now he talks to me. He tells me what he wants. He apologizes enthusiastically if his wild ways end up in a Mom/Phinny collision. He knocks on the door at five am so he can join us in bed for a few minutes before the day starts. He’ll sometimes wrap one arm around my neck and one around Jared’s. Even the thought of it makes me melt. Our life is so fun and happy. And dang that boy is beautiful. Inside and out. Old Mel is already jealous of younger Mel. I can just see myself thirty years from now yearning to relive just five of the minutes where Phin curled up in my lap and stroked my hair with tiny Phinny hands while he dozed off.

Someday I’ll have to watch him give his whole heart to someone else. And while it’s natural and there is no way I’d rather have it, the idea of someone else being the center of his life makes me ache. Clearly it’s because I picture my baby and not some grown human, but he’s my baby! Mine. I protect him. I try to make his world as safe and good as I can. It’s hard to watch the clock in the corner tick away.

My bad. A little emotional tangent snuck it’s way in. Really, I’m amazed to watch him learn so much every day. I can’t believe we’ll be starting the process over with another. Wow.

By the way, I dreamed I had a girl last night. She weighed 8lbs 2oz at twenty weeks premature. Because I had gestational diabetes (which I’m pretty sure I do but I haven’t had to take the test yet).  And she was covered in red veins and scales with a cute nose.

So if that comes true in the next day or so, I called it.