Perspective

The other day I'm at the drugstore with Kieran shopping for devices that will tame my unruly hair. I'm sifting through an assortment of headbands, and absently hand one that I've decided to buy to Kieran to play with. A short while later, after I've moved away from the accessories aisle, I happen to look into the stroller to see that the headband is not there and he's playing with his soother instead. I retrace my steps through the store to see if he dropped/threw it on the floor but it's gone. I check beside him in the stroller - no luck. And then I look more closely at my 16-month-old son. He has the hairband alright, on his head, tucked behind his ears - right where it should be.

I've been pregnant now for around 120 days. Of those days, I have thrown up on at least 80 of them, usually more than once. This pregnancy has been almost a complete 180 degrees departure from my last and has, I'm just going to say it, been horrible. Of course, I want this baby, but its hard to feel unfettered maternal joy when, for the umpteenth time, the barf bag that you made use of in the car this morning had a hole in it and has leaked all over your pants. So, this barfapalooza, combined with the sheer amount of work that babies and toddlers require - not to mention the sleepless nights, early mornings etc etc. - has periodically made me question the wisdom of our decision to expand our family.

So as I continue to be mired in a vomit-flavoured haze and wonder why I decided to do this again, I just think of my boy as looks up at me in wide-eyed innocence, soother in mouth, headband on head, and I think, yes, I can do this again.