And We’re Waiting……

We’ve endured 9 months of waiting.
We have the nursery pretty much complete, the car seats in are in the vehicles, our bags have been in the trunk for a month.
I have had the pregnancy glow. Along with the pregnancy sweat in between and underneath my boobs and other places I’d rather not say.
I’ve taken my cute weekly, monthly maternity pictures.
I’ve gotten the you are so cute pregnant compliments.
The omg you’re all belly compliments.
I’ve enjoyed your movements. Your sweet hiccups. Your little elbow and foot jabs.
Nick and I got a surprise 3D ultra sound and seeing your beautiful little face was a high point. Big pouty lips that you obviously got from your mother ;). Every ultra sound was exciting. And we shared the pictures with everyone.

I’ve made it a point to still dress cute. Or attempted to dress cute. Because for some reason as my belly grew during this pregnancy my ass shrunk and I’ve suffered from NOASSATALL for the last 4 or so months.
I’ve washed baby outfits.
I’ve sterilized the bottles and binkies (aka pacifiers).
I’ve nested. And nested. From the ceiling fans to base boards, I have cleaned. Disinfected. Wiped down.
I have endured almost a month of nonstop daily contractions. I’m dilated 3 cm. At 4 I can get my epidural but your hell bent on chillaxin at 3 cm and letting me be in agony.
You’ve spent even longer treating my vagina as a bass drum and sending sharp shooting pains every time you’ve kicked or head butted it from the inside. Sometimes it’s happen in public and reflexively I grab my crotch because it hurts so bad. Resulting in looks that range from “bless her heart” to “what the hell”. Turns out it’s called lightning vagina. Seriously. Look it up.

Spent almost an entire week on the Labor and delivery floor welcoming your cousin Addison into the world.
Really hoped that would have triggered a desire for you to vacate the premises. Aka as my insides.
Two false alarm trips to labor and delivery and we are still waiting.
STILL WAITING.
I’m officially up every two to three hours during the night anyway. Either because I have to pee (please get the F off my bladder) to night time boob milk leakage, night sweats, or my favorite, contractions. So there’s no sleep. For anyone. Not me. Not your dad. Not your fur siblings. No one.
We are past the point of exhaustion. Past the point of anxiousness. And I’m so very sick and tired of having people tell me to be patient. I am not patient. At all. And patience as a virtue is beyond stupid. Purpose. I like things to be done with purpose and in a timely manner.

I didn’t get to finish the above post because I just so happened to have an ob appointment and I was at 4 cm sooooooo we are in labor and delivery 🙂

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In Loving You…..

I’m sitting here on the sofa developing a leg cramp and fighting contractions but don’t want to move because a big bulky head is sound asleep on my lap.
You’re oblivious to the fact that I’m uncomfortable. Which is okay. Because truthfully, I would rather have you right where you are than not.

You’re my dogs. The heartbeats outside of my body. The happiness that’s attached to three wet noses, three wagging tails, and twelve legs.
You’re my bed companions when dad goes out of town.
My shadows when I go to the bathroom. The weirdos who are obsessed with poking your heads through the shower curtain and stare at me.

You’re our rescues. Our decisions to take you home and make you family rather than let a shelter decide your fate. You’re my little dog that is full of big dog personality who thinks that because you have two big dog body guards, an ass whooping from another dog can be avoidable.
The little dog who when I first took you to the vet after keeping you, had to be treated for heart worms. But couldn’t be kept over night because the vet said “his separation anxiety from you would kill him during treatment”.
You’re my little dog who after countless weekends of drunken nights, you’d lay next to me on the bathroom floor while I prayed to the porcelain God, swearing off all and any alcoholic beverages. Loving, unwavering, and the biggest cry baby dog I have ever had. Earning you the name “Bitch dog” by my dad.

You’re the first “pit bull” that came into my life. You were supposed to be Nick’s dog but that quickly changed after I began spoiling you.
Your beautiful gray fur, your gray eyes, and that tail that looked as if it would come right off you when it wagged. Your beautiful Stella smile. If there was ever a doggie soulmate, you are mine. We went to puppy school. Took car rides, snuggled in bed with our little dog, shared milk shakes.
In loving you meant I lost 3 belts, countless shoes, and anything that was left within reaching distance of that mouth earning you the name, our Gray Destroyer.

Taking you in meant dealing with negative comments from people who were either just plain ignorant about your breed or others who are just down right dicks.
If I had a dollar for every conversation I’ve had defending you, your breed, and your honor, I think I’d be pretty well off by now.
You are my overweight mixed with hippo pit bull.
In loving you I became an advocate for bully breeds. I connected with people who not only love and have other bullies, but who also understand the bond that exist between a true “pit bull” parent and their fur child.

You’re the pit mix whose face was looking at me through an email at work attached with all your faults. The email that stated:
He’s a great dog, who chews up underground sprinklers, tears up the neighbors fishing gear, can’t be kept in a kennel because he hurts himself, has trust issues, won’t stay in an electric fence issues.
Has been abused, we tried to keep him but we can’t anymore, someone please take him before he goes to the shelter.
I just saw a new best friend. I read all the bad but knew in my heart that you belonged to us. So I sent an email to Nick in hopes he would agree. And he did.
So on the weekend of Mother’s Day, we picked you up and brought you to meet Stella and Deuce.

In loving you, we had chewed up carpet. Not a little. But a lot. We now have new floors. In loving you, we lost a sofa. We have holes the size of small meteor craters under our 6 ft privacy fence because you HAVE to go play with the lab next door. You drag more dirt inside and I am constantly sweeping up small sand dunes. You’re an Asshole. But all the “behavior” problems have been solved. There is no food aggression with other dogs. You can sleep in a kennel now thanks to Stella teaching you that it’s okay. You LOVE TO GO BYE BYE! Where riding in a car gave you extreme anxiety, you now stick your head out the window and let that gigantic tongue hand out.
You’re personality is only equal to that of a circus clown. You have no idea that you weigh as much as you do. You want in our lap and damn it you’re going to get there. Since I became pregnant you have had an obsession with my tummy. You nuzzle it, you lay on it, you kiss it sometimes. And the bigger it’s gotten the more you Hoss, our second pit, have grown to love the baby inside. Protective. Nurturing. Cuddling. But still an asshole who likes to dig.
In loving you I have found a passion that I had no idea existed in me. In loving you I became an outspoken advocate against animal cruelty, against breed specific legislation, and against those who wish to portray bully breeds in a negative, ignorant way.
In loving you, I have found a part of myself and my soul that I never knew existed.

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