Just a Meaningless Update

Hello again!
So, as of yesterday, I hit Week 27 in my pregnancy. "Holy crap," you might think, "She's PREGNANT??" I may be wrong, I may have posted previously. Or I may be right, I never posted, or you forgot. Either way, there it is. I'm pregnant.
And holy crap, I'm in my third trimester, too!
Which means I'm huge. And about to get even bigger really quickly.
Yay. -_-
This whole experience has been hard. Puking my guts out for four months was awesome. Then my hips split. If you've been through this, you know what I'm talking about. If you haven't, imagine this: the bones of your pelvis literally break away from each other, pulling muscle and sinew, realigning your back (not always for the better), and moving bones. It hurts. And in my case, my left hip never aligned properly with my spine, so during certain movements I feel the bones grinding against each other. And by "certain," I mean completely fucking random. I never know when I'm going to get wracked with pain.
But we live on.
Aiden (the Baby) is now strong enough to kick hard enough so that others can feel (and even see!) his movements.  When he's awake, it's really cool to just watch my tummy bounce around. Mom was the first to feel him kick (Well, besides me), and it was so cute! Her eyes got huge and she exclaimed, "I got him!!" When Leo felt it, the look of amazement and bafflement on his face was so endearing. I think he's amazed that we made this unknown little nudger. He's becoming attached. We both are, and it makes us even *more* scared for The Big Day.
Why, you ask?
Because Aiden will not be Aiden Isaac Driscoll-Vizcarra. He's going to be Aiden Isaac Houghton. Houghton is my oldest sister's name. She and her family are going to adopt him.
Yeah. I know.
It was one of the hardest decisions I'll ever make, which makes me worry about the follow-through. I'm glad Annie's taking him, because I'll be able to watch him grow, and spoil him rotten. It also makes the commitment easier, because I can't let them down. Were the adopting parents total strangers, it probably would be easier to say "No, I want him." at the last minute. (Wow, how fucked up would that be??) Granted, I've had my moments where I just wanted to scream, "STOP! I WANT THIS BABY HE IS MINE YOU CANNOT HAVE HIM THIS IS GETTING OUT OF CONTROL I DIDN'T KNOW WHAT I WAS GETTING INTO NO NO NO NO NO!" But then my rational mind goes, "I thought you liked sleep? And money? And quiet? And time to yourself? I thought you wanted to have time to grow up? Have a life? Get completely smashed on your 21st guilt-free?" And all I can think is, "Damn you, rationality!"
So now, I avoid squalling and cooing and giggling and sleeping babies. I avoid situations where I'll be in close contact to a child under four. For example, you won't ever catch me in a Chuck-E-Cheese's. If there's a baby a few tables over at a restaurant, I trade places with someone so I don't have to look at it. I'll head to the other side of the store if there's a toddler throwing a fit. I get some dirty looks, but I can't exactly help it. Their kids are making me yearn for my own, which is something I need to avoid.  Being at the doctor's office is torture. There's no where for me to run but the bathroom, and how rude would it be for me to sit in there for half an hour with a bunch of pregnant women right outside? So I sit with my head down, listening to the sounds of whatever my head is tuned into, which is usually an annoying loop of some song I only know three lines to.
My mom, on the other hand, isn't exactly helpful. She likes to go shopping, and I can't blame her. Her oldest three aren't going to be having many kids anymore very soon, and her youngest three aren't at ages to have kids. My oldest brother is having a baby a month before me, but they're in Iowa, so she can't help much. Which leaves me and Aiden. She will be there for his birth, will see him off when my sister and her family go back home. So she's planning on giving this kid the best and most spoiled first days of his life a kid could ask for. She's almost got him outfitted for the first six months. There are bibs, bottles, onesies, outfits, socks, shoes, caps, blankets... And when Annie gets here, they're going to pick out a transportation system. You know, the all-in-one deal with the carseat, buggy, and everything in-between. And I have been there when she bought most of it. Hell, I've even picked out a few items. Most of his stuff is frog- or dragonfly-themed (mom LOVES dragonflies.) My personal favorite so far, however is a onesie that says, "My Auntie is #1."
Because that's who I'm gonna be. Auntie Kenna. I'm also going to be his godmother, but "Godmom Kenna" is a mouthful, and doesn't have the ring Auntie Kenna does.
And not only am I going to be Aiden's Godmother, but I'm also going to be his sisters' too. He's got two sisters, Kelsey (11) and Aurora (7). ...I wasn't exactly thrilled to take on the girls as well, I kinda wanted to be Aiden's godmom solely so I could spoil him. But his parents didn't want to break up the trio, which is understandable, but I can't handle one, how am I supposed to handle three? And one's going to be a teenager soon...! ((Am I being selfish here? I feel like I am, but at the same time, I feel like I have a right to be....))
It's been hard going through what I am, but I can't imagine being in Leo's shoes... He's lived a good part of his life thinking he's never going to have kids, then BOOM here's Aiden! His face was stone at the ultrasound, but after being around him for a year and a half, I knew he was holding back tears. Dunno why, but he was (I mean why he was holding them (the tears) back, not why is he crying). He's been so supportive through this whole process. I really wish there was something I could do for him, but I can't get him to open up about it. He says he's dealing but I know there's a lot of pain. It sometimes slips through when he's tired, I'll get texts that read something like, "Let's run away. We can stay with one of my cousins until we can live on our own." And with all my heart I want to. But as I've mentioned, I just can't hurt Annie and Keith. Not like that. The excitement that poured from the speakers of my phone when I let them know they were having a son... It would break their hearts.
And they're not being totally selfish in this. They've been great, they do worry about me. Which is reassuring, but when you get asked every day, "How are you? Are you okay?" with the hidden, "You aren't going to get cold feet, are you?" it gets annoying trying to find a new way of saying, "Yes, I'm fine." But the most annoying thing to hear is how selfless I'm being, and how strong I am. I'm NOT selfless, and I'm NOT strong. Yeah, I'm giving this baby to a family who has wanted a boy since they started having kids. Yeah, I'm giving the gift of life. Yeah, I'm making sure this kid has the best damn upbringing possible. Yeah, I'm doing the right thing. Is it easy? Hell. No. Do I feel good about it? Sometimes. But it's going to destroy me. I'm talking nuclear bomb destroy. If you could look at my soul in an X-Ray, it'll look like the aftermath of Hiroshima. But hey. But those reasons weren't the reasons I decided to give my baby up for. My reasons were: I don't want to grow up now. I enjoy sleep. I want to have a car and a house and a ring on my finger before I start a family. I don't want any more kids to suffer through that bullshit they call an "education" here, least of all one of mine. I want to be able to go out an party without spending the extra $50 on a babysitter. If it doesn't work out with Leo, I want to be able to have the occasional one-night-stand without having to explain to a two-year-old what that strange man was doing in our home. And I never want to have to protect my children from an abusive boyfriend.
And honest to god, I'm not strong. This is killing me. I haven't slept in a month, and I seriously think I may have been hallucinating on Friday. I haven't slept because I've become such a light sleeper, my sister's TV will wake me up, or not let me sleep. And I threw a fit on Sunday. I mean literally, it was like I was three again. I was sobbing uncontrollably, slamming doors, hitting walls... I'm sooo glad I didn't break anything. I must have gone through half a box of tissues, and the skin around my nose and eyes was raw, sore, and chapped. I cried for nearly three hours non-stop. Goddamn hormones (though I'm sure having a sixteen-year-old living in the room next to mine wasn't the greatest idea... I tried sooo haaaard to get the other room, but alas!).
Today, I took the Glucose-Tolerance test. Which sucked. I think it's the most sucky test I've been through, and I've had a spinal tap. Its because the suck lingers. All. Day. What you do is you fast from sugar for 12 hours. Even a person without diabetes would feel icky. Then they give you some sugar water that tastes like flat orange soda, and you're forced to live for another hour without food, candy, or gum. The only thing you can consume is water. So now, because you couldn't find anything without sugar for breakfast, it's like you've had 3 more cups of coffee than you needed. I felt jittery and tired and my muscles were hurting. And the icky lasts for the rest of the day... You don't get a break from it after you eat. It really, really sucks. (They draw your blood after an hour. I don't consider this sucky, as needles and such don't bother me.) I thought I was going to faint a couple of times in the waiting room.
Well, it's nearly midnight, and time for me to get off. TTYL!