My Boy

I had a dream recently, after a particularly rough day. In my dream, I was at the hospital, and it was all over- and they handed me my baby.
And it was so perfect. So peaceful. I felt so relieved and complete to have him in my arms.
Travis and I have a name picked out (tentatively) and in my dream, when I saw my sweet boy's face I recognized him. He belonged to his name.
And he belonged to me.

He had a square face and pointed chin, like his brothers did. He had those dark, blueish-gray eyes of newborns, and a soft fuzz of baby down on his head.
He looked so much like Grey and Micah as newborns, and yet he was so much himself.
I wonder if this boy will be born, and will look differently than in my dream- and his name will stop belonging to him.
But I don't think so.
I really do think he'll look the way I dreamt. I'm a big believer in mothers having intuitive dreams. In knowing and feeling things before they happen- especially when it comes to their children.
I keep imagining this boy.

With the twins, I had a hard pregnancy. Well, not really. But it was tiring, frustrating, and emotional.
The kind of pregnancy that leaves you bawling on the floor when your bed is made incorrectly.
And then I had a terrifying birth experience, a frustrating hospital stay, and oh yeah- two newborns to take care of.
And yet- it was better than pregnancy.
I think it was better.

I mean, I remember hard nights. I would call my best friend and her husband in the middle of the night, and they would walk to our house in the dark to help bounce screaming babies in the kitchen while I laid on the couch and cried from frustrated exhaustion. (Travis must have been out of town.)
Yes. There were nights like that.
There must have been many of them, but I can barely even imagine it anymore.
Instead, what I "remember" (or have invented in my memory) is an an almost immediate return to total happiness.
I went from hugely pregnant, immobile, sore, and regularly hysterical to normal Becky but with two babies.
Again. I know that's inaccurate. I know I was exhausted. I struggled with breastfeeding, I lost weight at a dangerous pace, I felt overwhelmed and inadequate.
But I have no memory of that, really.
I only remember the feelings of joy and peace and wholeness.

This pregnancy is hard. It's the kind of pregnancy that leaves me bawling on the floor when my child unexpectedly throws up on me. The kind of pregnancy that makes me call my husband and beg him to come home early from work so I can lie in bed and cry some more.
Not every day. Not even most days.
But some days. Pregnancy is like that.
But soon.
I will have my boy.

Soon those days of frustrated exhaustion, those days of being covered in someone else's bodily fluids, those days of sore-body and hunger will be rewarded- not with a giant, tight belly, but with a baby.
A sweet smelling, soft-haired, big eyed, dry-skinned, wrinkly little boy.
And I can't wait.