Brady will be two tomorrow. It's so surreal to me that my baby really isn't a baby anymore. It seems like just week I was waddling around MHS capturing the stares of many students who hadn't seen someone quite so....large. If you think I'm kidding, I'm not. Even the pediatrician asked me at 34 weeks if I was sure there was only one baby in there.
It took about two hours from when my water broke to deliver my new son. After it happened I remember feeling so dazed like, "What the hell just happened?" It's probably the closest to shock I have ever been.
I remember, while awash in my hormones, feeling so sad that this was it. No more feeling a baby kicking inside of me. No more feeling hiccups. No more watching my belly go topsy turvy. I remember feeling cheated that Thad told me it was a boy before I got to see for myself.
Don't get me wrong....I was elated with my new baby. I was full of love and happiness. He was so beautiful. I had another healthy child....who looked just like his dad. Damn my genes must be weak!
People say all the time that you'll know when you're done having kids. I have never felt that. If money allowed us to have more and more and more babies, I would do it. (I'd also have a full time nanny, a tummy tuck, and a boob job just so you know.)
So on this eve of Brady's second birthday, I am again filled with happiness and excitement for him. He is one of the happiest kids I know. He is hilarious. He is charming. He is mine.
Now, for those of you who've had enough of my cheesy post, here's one for you: Tonight Brady touched his belly button and said penis, only it sounds like 'peenith' when he says it. "No honey that's not your penis, that's your belly button." Nice try though huh?