Week 26 - The Return of Ne-Ne Boy
"Ne-ne" is pronounced "nay-nay" in case you didn't know. And, in case you ALSO didn't know, "ne-ne" is a term some people use for breasts or breastfeeding. Sadly, I'm not in breastfeeding territory right now. Hmmm...why do I say "sadly"? I guess because I had grown used to nursing during my last pregnancy, and then tandem nursing until the older of the two was nearly 2.5 years old (and the baby was, what? almost a year old). The older one weaned just about the time I got pregnant with this current baby, but the younger one nursed contentedly for some time.
Anyway, the end of the tandeming was most welcome, since we all know how exhausting early pregnancy can be. Add on top of that nursing a kid or two, and, well, I was tired, REALLLLLY tired. Still, I thought, tandeming again wouldn't be so bad, even though my youngest child had gotten into this really annoying habit of biting down on my already sensitive pregnant breasts. Maybe he was trying to get more milk, better milk, out of me. Maybe I wasn't eating as much to provide for HIS needs as well as our growing pre-born. Who knows.
After about three months of my being pregnant, he had had enough. Milk from a bottle flowed much more quickly, it came easier, and hey, mom wasn't a total grouch. So, a few months ago, he weaned. And I find myself sad about it sometimes, missing it, especially when he gets into his little almost one-and-a-half-year-old moods. It's at those times when I think it would be so easy to comfort him and ease my frazzled nerves through nursing. But that chapter of our lives is over...
The return of Ne-Ne Boy. "What the heck does she mean???" Ne-ne boy was our almost 3-year-old's nickname, given to him by our older children. Then it turned into a game...a cute game, really. Of course, most games invented spontaneously by kids are cute.
Connor is ne-ne boy and he chases the older kids around until he "gets 'em." At first he would chase them with a bottle of milk and try to squirt them with it, but somebody (maybe mom?) decided squirting milk wasn't the best idea. So, now he chases them with a vacuum cleaner attachment...which, by the way, he thinks is he sword. Yes, that's the price I pay for taking them to the Renaissance Festival last fall...everything has become a sword.
Anyway, he chases them around until he gets them. I just learned today that one of the rules is they get five "lives," after that they have to go to Ne-Ne Boy's side to help him get the others. I guess it's a variation of tag or ghost or graveyard. Whatever it is, it is often quite loud, involving lots of running, shouting, and slamming of doors. And, yes, they seem to only decide to play it when it is raining outside. Oh well, it's certainly better than screaming at each other and slamming bedroom doors because one insulted the other, right? Oh, and this is strictly a family game. Nobody else would understand what Ne-Ne Boy is, as it has evolved in our family over the past year or so.
I know, this is supposed to be a pregnancy journal. The pregnancy has been so blessedly wonderful, I've felt so good, that often there isn't much to write about. No tests, no procedures, no interventions, no gripes about this OB or that midwife. It's all quite nice, really. Sure, sometimes I wake in the middle of the night with a mini panic-attack that I've made a dreadfully wrong choice not paying someone to help me worry about EVERY LITTLE THING, but it passes very quickly and I go back to sleep.
I did have one episode this week when I was most uncomfortable. I think the baby had a growth spurt of sorts, causing my internal organs to shift yet again. The result was feeling like everything was up in my chest cavity. I had awful heartburn that night and couldn't seem to get comfortable at all.
Fortunately the next morning I awoke feeling just fine. I guess everything found a home during the night. That episode quickly reminded me why most pregnant women are rather miserable, physically, near term....everything is pushing up into the chest, making it hard to digest properly or to get one's breath. Feet in the ribs, head between the legs....ahhh, 14 weeks to go. :-)
Until next time