Life.

I'll admit it. I'm spent. After three and a half days taking care of a sick toddler, while my husband is away on business, and battling a cold myself being four months pregnant, I. am. done. There have been more than a few times in the past several hours that I've wanted to call my mom to come take care of me. How come THIS was never in any of the What to Expect books? Colton is finally getting over a nasty stomach virus, which started early Saturday morning.

Thankfully the puking only lasted for that one day, but the diarrhea continued through until late last night. In the middle of all this, Gregg left for a business trip and won't be home until Thursday. I called the doctor twice to ask what I should do, and was told to keep Colton hydrated and on the B.R.A.T. (bananas, rice, applesauce, and toast) diet. So he's been living on bananas, crackers, and Pedialyte for the past 72 hours. His poop has firmed up a little bit and the horrible diaper rash has gotten much better since then, thanks to Boudreaux's Butt Paste.

I almost had a breakdown last night on the phone to Gregg, who calmly reassured me that I was doing everything I could do for our son. I hate when he's sick. I hate that I can't do much about it. I hate that I've thrown myself a pity party. The past few days have really highlighted the differences between my two pregnancies. With the first one, I was blissfully dreaming about motherhood, taking belly pictures every single week, never forgetting to read about how the baby was developing or which fruit's size it had grown to that particular week. This time, I have to stop myself and ask "wait, what week is this?" I've taken a total of one photo of my growing tummy. I'm too busy trying to meet the demanding needs of a 2 1/2 year old to even remember that I'm pregnant.

I wonder how on earth I'm going to take care of a toddler and a newborn at the same time. And how I could possibly love this baby as much as I love the child I already have. I know I won't pay as much attention to all of the firsts, or take nearly as many pictures of him or her. But I also won't be coming off some ridiculously high, disillusioned concept of motherhood with this one. I won't expect to bond right away, and will know that this is perfectly okay. I'll be more relaxed about the fact that he or she didn't meet a milestone within the "average" limits. I will know that while parenting can be incredibly frustrating, it can also be wonderfully rewarding simultaneously.

So while I can't quite see the end of the tunnel to Colton's present illness, I need to remember that this too shall pass. I need to stop feeling sorry for myself and choose to focus instead on my blessings, which are in abundance. While my toddler has suddenly developed a case of mine-itis and continually pushes boundaries, I am happy that he is speaking in full sentences, knows most of his colors, and recognizes several letters of the alphabet. It may be just small potatoes, but at this stage it makes me one proud mama. I know he'll be a great big brother too.