Pregnancy Portrait

So. Now you know what I've been up to while drawing out the process of logging our trip beyond reason.  I've been making a person! How is it going, you ask?  Oh, well since you asked.
I think the answer can be best illustrated by Little One, who has expressed the essence of the last three months beautifully with this masterpiece:

 

"See, Mommy, that's you, on yours knees, and there is the potty there, and see you are making a yucky face! And there, see there that's your big round belly that has the baby inside it!" 

It is really quite an accurate likeness.
I do not do pregnancy with grace, Peanuts.  Not with any.  I do not do adorable, glowy pregnancy, raving about how feminine and alive and special I feel.  I feel like crap.  I just claw my way through the days with a plastic Target bag in one hand. Eating like a starved monkey one minute and then hurling until my mascara runs down my face, and I don't even care because now I lost my lunch and I'm starving again.
On a good day I start thinking, look at me! Go me! I did a load of laundry! Now I'm going to make din- wait.  No. No I'm not.  I've just been hit in the head by a swinging tube sock full of broken bricks.  I'm going to lie on the couch.  I'm going to lie here, trying to summon the strength to continue breathing, while the house falls down around me and the children go completely feral.
My husband is trapped in a strange hell, in which he has to manage single-parenting feral children among the mess while simultaneously minding a starved monkey. Who whines a lot.
His parents have been staying in town for the duration of this madness, and I'm sure it is the worst vacation ever.  I wish I could feel more guilt about that, but I can't because I'm too busy feeling so selfishly happy that they have been here to give J the occasional strange-hell respite and take the feral children to the zoo. 
Not that the Lord-of-the-Flies-Littles are without their merits. They can be quite sweet.  I lie on the couch and Missy says, "You not feeling good?  I snuggle you.  I snuggle you baby." And climbs up to lay Her head on my tummy and pat me gently.  She sees me dash across the house, slippers flying, and hollers, "you t'rowing up 'gin? Ok! Ok! I feel you bettah!" and dashes as well- to the art area to make me an elaborate drawing to cheer me up with.  Little One is just as concerned.  She breaks into the bathroom, holds my hair back like a good little sorority sister, and reassures me.  "Aw.  It's ok, it's ok Mommy. Go ahead."  She sings to the baby and brings me things and plays endless Uno games when I can't rally for much else. 
Most importantly, they remind me.
They go around being their little selves and remind me that in just a little bit of time, all of this will be a faded memory.  So pale next to the dazzling vibrancy of what it's all for.  They remind me that a few months of sleepless nights, weary days, and being transfigured into an invalid, starving monkey is a small price to pay for the sleepless nights and weary days I will get to spend rocking the perfect little person whose heart is already beating in there somewhere. 
In the meantime, I probably haven't returned your calls.  But if you need me, you can always find me.  Little One's picture up there is not just a portrait, it's a map!  Print that baby out and if you want to find me, you'll always know what room I'm in.