(with thanks to Blur for the title and the earworm)

Have we calmed down yet about the Toronto parentswho have decided to keep their child’s sex a secret so as to let him/her/it determine it’s own gender identity? No? Right. Newspaper commenters. They get a little crazy.

I still have the same reaction I did when I first read it, when I unfolded it on the front page of the Star on Saturday morning while drinking my coffee. Well, I agree with a lot of the principles they espouse, but I’m not sure I ethically agree with conducting such an experiment on one of my children.  But you go, girl. Or boy. Or whatever.

A conversation with a friend made me realize what was bothering me the most about this story. If I imagine myself in their shoes, I just couldn’t be so consistent as them.  I just can’t imagine being that thorough and voracious. I find it hard to take any position and be so strong-willed about it. Life is so nuanced. Humans are just so human. What’s right one day may not be right the next. What seems like a good parenting decision can totally backfire at the best of times.  And society is hard to navigate. This stuff makes my head hurt.

**

I can’t actually tell you how many people have now asked me if I am hoping for a girl this time. I have lost count.

This is pretty much the most unfair question you could ask me. What’s the right answer here? Well, no, I’m not hoping for a girl, boys are the only way to go around here. Snips and snails and puppy dog tails rule. Brothers ‘r us.  Well, yes, I am hoping for a girl, and if it’s a boy, I’m going to have a hard time bonding as I mourn the loss of the Barbie dream house we’ll play with together. Jesus christ. So unfair.

I’m hoping for a baby, in general. This Cathy Thorne cartoon says it all. (Do you know Cathy Thorne’s work? She’s pretty brilliant.)  Although a friend on twitter suggested I start saying that I’m hoping for a pony. I quite like that answer.

**

I am going to find out what this baby is, and I will tell you, if you’re lucky. Ha. It is kind of fun to speculate (this is a *very* different pregnancy than before – does that actually mean anything? How many old wives tales’ turn out to be true? o%?) but for me it’s more fun to plan. I need to know if I’m clearing out my basement for donation purposes or organizing it into ages and stages. And there will be some clothes that would work for either sex. And there will be some clothes that I wouldn’t put on one sex or another – they just might go too far in one gendered direction. And I’m ok with that. That’s my bag. When the kid has an opinion about what they want to wear (Oliver has a thing for pink, for example), I’ll be open to that. Let’s navigate this world as we go, baby.

So this week marks 7 years of blogging for me, and 4 years on twitter, apparently. Why I happen to have both anniversaries in the same week is unknown. Why I continue to remember that both these things happen in the same week is also unknown. All I know is that their contemplation makes me feel exhausted. Seven years? Four years? Good grief.

But then everything makes me tired right now.  The lethargy is incredible. My other two pregnancies were dominated by nausea. There was no morning sickness.  There was any-time-of-day vomit-on-a-subway-platform-in-public sickness. I’m not even going to share what happens to your body, with its loosened muscles, with that kind of retching. I’ll let you figure that out for yourself. Ugh.

With Oliver, I was sick up until a few hours before he was born. With Callum, I ended up medicated on the blessed, blessed diclectin. Pregnancy, in both cases, was my most effective diet ever. My face was chiseled! I had no pregnancy weight to lose, only postpartum weight to gain back (alas; damn those mat leave cookies).

I am so lucky this time to not be ill, to not be retching. Okay, I kind of miss my cheekbones. But I was so worried about it in the first trimester, I was using vitamin B and ginger to suppress my early nausea. Except then I realized it was merely early nausea and there would be no embarrassing conversations with maintenance staff this time.

But. I’m tired. I’m often asleep in my chair before 9pm. I’ve got piles of laundry to put away that sit for nights on end. I’ve got blog posts to write that go unwritten. Obligations are not being met left, right and centre.

It also seems that as my energy has decreased, the boys’ energy has magnified a thousandfold. Basically we’re just letting them run havoc in the house and hoping they don’t actually kill each other, despite regularly threatening it, or using rudimentary karate skills to knock each other out.  Basically, the house has gone to pot.

This too shall pass, right? I’m 16, almost 17 weeks along. I’ll feel better soon, and we’ll get through the house move, and then there’ll be 3 kids here and it will all be wonderful.

(I’ve been sleeping so much that apparently I’m living in a dream. Huh.)

It’s done. The house is found and purchased. I wouldn’t say it’s absolutely  perfect but it’s pretty close – beautiful and quirky, and is in the exact location we wanted, and I can’t complain at all. I mean, I will, of course, eventually, because that’s what I do. But for right now I am full of plans and anticipation.  And there is still so much to do to get there, but thankfully a bit of time to do it in (not moving until the end of July) and all the energy going in that direction just feels really positive. 

I have an overwhelming sense of relief.  That was a long, difficult process, that selling and buying. It has been all-consuming in particular since we sold, and I’m just so glad to be sitting here at my computer on my couch not worried about the latest real estate listings. Or shoving the kids in the car to head to yet another open house or showing. Ugh.

The boys are experiencing some preliminary grief as they realize they are moving away from their friends, but have some reassurance with plans for a party in June to start to say goodbye, and excitement over the opportunities that the new house will bring. Like the giant park 2 minutes away. Or that small body of water called Lake Ontario a short stroll down the road. I know they are going to love this once we get over the bumps.

So much change for them right now, and they are coping pretty admirably.  Except for the part where we tried to potty train Callum over Easter weekend. It was pretty much a major fail.  I was really hoping to get him out of the pull-ups after 5.5 years straight of dealing with diapers and wipes and changing mats and whatever.

Because I’d really like a break before I’m changing newborn diapers again this October.  Oh hi, internet, we’re moving into the big city, and we’re having another baby.