When are you due? and the memories

I've been asked lots of questions lately relating to my pregnancy, but the one I'm tired (and yet not sick of) is "When are you due?" I know this is mostly because I've really popped lately and look to some ready to deliver soon. It is sad to tell people "the end of July" or "three more months" and see the reaction on their faces. I'm feeling really great and in my opinion, moving really well, but the waddle has started and I'm definitely moving slower and not bending down to pick things up as much.

There is a part of me that wants July to get here so I can have a healthy little baby, and yet there is another part of me that wishes I could slow down time and have more of it to thoroughly enjoy every kick and nudge this baby gives me. Knowing this is my last pregnancy (or should be) makes me ready to revel in each moment, and yet this time of year is so very hectic that I'm tired and worn out.

I haven't started putting together a baby's room or even pulled things down from the attic. I know I should do this now while I feel good and not a beached whale, but I'm holding out. I figure I'll need something to keep me busy this summer for the five weeks I've got until my due date. Putting together a room will hopefully take up some of that time for me. I also just feel the urgency to do it. I don't even want a shower until after this baby comes. I'm not yet registering, and while there are some things I do need to get, they are specific things I want to pick out (or tell my mom to get). Yes, I'm pregnant, but a part of me isn't ready to face lots of the memories with all the baby things. They are good memories of my boys, but there is also the memories of the grief I felt last summer packing everything away.

Sure, it's been over a year and a half since my miscarriage. I'm doing great and feeling great, and looking forward to having this baby this summer. But, there is always a part of me (and probably always will be) that thinks and wonders about if that baby had lived. The memories associated with my loss are strong and hit me at times out of nowhere. The worst of these is the songs I hear. I can still remember the song playing on the radio as Tony and I drove to that sad ultrasound. It played again (it was popular last year) on the way to the hospital the next day, and I sang it in my head to get through the pain losing my baby, at least until the good anesthesia kicked in. Hearing that song again, just makes me remember I'm a mommy to an angel this mother's day, as well as to two little boys here.