Okay, it's getting difficult now.

This is the one post I will permit myself to complain this pregnancy. My back is making me aware that toting Rachel is not a wise decision. Cuddling Dale or Madeleine takes some adjustment, and having them sit on my lap for reading is done with a timer. I can still sleep on my back but I give it two more weeks, tops. I'm having to wake up for a nighttime bathroom trip and my varicose veins are making themselves felt. (At the risk of oversharing, they aren't in my legs, either.) And I'm just over halfway.

But I don't get nauseous, my blood pressure stays low, I've always lost the weight afterward, I don't have to quit any medications. I don't even get weird cravings--I just employ the pregnancy to indulge my sweet tooth more often. And frankly, one of my favorite things has always been feeling the baby move, even if it's kicking my bladder.

I've said that pregnancy is easy for me. Let us recall, "ease" is relative. So what do I mean? I do something like a cost-benefit analysis. All of these conditions and discomforts are temporary (except the varicose veins, and those aren't a constant).
By January I'll be able to go without somnambulistic potty wanderings. I won't be sleeping through the night with a newborn in the house, but at least I'll have company. Ibuprofen, which I'll probably get after delivery, will take care of the veins. The nursing will take care of the weight gained.
I'll have my lap back but for periodic monopolization by the newest, and after the first couple weeks I'll be able to carry any of the kids again. I'll be able to sleep on my back before coming home from the hospital.

What do I get in exchange for my suffering? Another child. Another whole new person to watch grow, learn, and change. All of my problems are temporary; in trade, I get to contribute an immortal soul to the world (and hopefully Heaven). My troubles will end; the child is eternal. The sacrifice I will have made is more than made up for in the joy of hearing his first laugh, first word, watching his first smile. Even the diapers will go away. The child will not.
After all, as a friend said today when discussing this very idea, "Remember how they used to say 'there's no I in teamwork'? There's no I in motherhood, either."

I think I can make it through. Just let me have the can of peaches and my compression tights, and I'll be fine.