Pee is the Worst, or Why I Feel Like a Terrible Mom

Max has been coming into our bed in the middle of the night now for what seems like months, maybe 2.  Which on one hand isn't that long, but as a mama in late pregnancy whose sleep dwindles by the night, it seems like forever.  He usually will let us cary him back to bed, he will be awake enough to pee then goes back to sleep as if nothing happened.  But the more tired I got, the less aware I even was that he came in and nestled between me and Dave in our King sized bed.
Then Grammie died and he was really resistant to sleep.  He took forever to fall asleep and was easily awoken and solved that by sleeping soundly in our bed.  In the past when we've dealt with bedtime problems, sticker charts and incentives have saved the day.  So about 2 weeks ago I started a new sticker chart.  He was excited, it was hit or miss at first, but then as he tried to collect 14 stickers so he could get a present from his Enna, he was back to doing well.  And so was I.  He was still visiting once a night, but I was aware and reminded him of the sticker and took him back to his room to sleep until the sun came up without incident.
Earlier this week, he got those 14 stickers and got his coloring book from Enna.  He was excited to have accomplished this.  We kept the sticker chart going but I decided to up the ante and explained now he had to stay in his bed all night, and not come in our bed at all if he wanted to get the sticker.  This is harder for me too, because boy can that kid snuggle and whisper the sweetest nothings in my ear.  The more sleep deprived I am, the easier I am to win over.
Cue tonight.  Dave is in the busiest part of his rehearsal period, tech week.  This means that it's just me and Max, all day and all night.  Dave doesn't have time to come home for dinner at this point, nor does he necessarily have time to even meet us for dinner.  It comes with the territory and I am used to this, but I underestimated how that might feel at 38-1/2 weeks pregnant.  It feels overwhelming.  It feels like sometimes I just want to pee in peace.  It feels like I am sick of answering "why?" all day and all night, particularly when I am also sick of answering "No baby yet?  You think you'll go early? Are you excited?"  It feels like I have a very short fuse with my adorable, sweet, loving son just because the kid wants me to play baseball with him and I just don't have it in me.  Which leads to feeling like a big old pile of crap.  Because he deserves me and can't understand why it sucks to get off the couch sometimes, let alone run bases.  He doesn't understand why I have to cart him around to 3 appointments every week and leave him with Dave's students, all because "the doctor needs to check on the baby."  He's regressing by peeing his pants 3 times in the last 2 days, and yelling at me (which is very atypical of him) anytime I tell him "no" or otherwise say something he doesn't want to hear.  He doesn't understand why we flip out every time he wants to pretend our bed is a pool that he's jumping into and lands precariously close to my giant belly.  He just wants to be his 3 year old self, and that comes with boundless energy that I just can't match these days.  That's just the back story.  (I may be trying to rationalize my reaction to the reason for this post.)
I finally fell asleep around 2:15 this morning, feeling ok about being almost caught up on laundry.  Around 4:15, I wake up to realize Max has just crawled into bed with us.  After yet another day with no nap that he still does need, he was exhausted.  I try to wake him to entice him with a sticker, to try to carry him back to his bed, to rouse him enough to realize what he's done.  He's not biting.  He is out cold.  The exhausted part of me ignores the logical/disciplinarian part of me and just lets him go.  He has to learn consequences, right?  He just won't get a sticker in the morning.  And I get to stay in my cozy bed uninterrupted.  At about 4:20, 4:30, Max wakes me and says clear as day, "Mommy I want to go change."  "What?  Did you pee?"  "Yes, I'm so sorry."  And boy did he pee.  Not just a warning trickle to wake him enough to go potty.  That would warrant a change of undies and pants, but not the worst thing.   This, though.  This felt like the worst thing, even though rational me knows it wasn't.  He peed through his pajamas, on me so I had to change my pants, shirt and underwear, obviously on my sheets, but also on my pillow, and through to our fibertop mattress topper, which by the way, is the only thing that makes our bed comfortable.  I was furious.
I was able to realize that yelling or even letting him know directly I was mad would be fruitless.  So I huffed and puffed while I started ripping sheets and pillowcases off the bed, and clothes off of my body.  And naturally got mad at myself for reacting this way.  Thankfully, Dave woke up and took Max to his room to get cleaned up and changed.  This way, Max didn't see me cry hysterically while I took my rage out on the linens.  I can't explain this reaction...I was still crying when Dave returned to the room and asked (as he so often has to these days) "What's wrong?"  I knew it didn't make sense and I was way overreacting, but that doesn't mean I could stop.  I was thinking about how I didn't want Max to think I was mad at him (even though I was) and how I literally had one clean fitted sheet left and how I JUST changed the sheets not long ago and how I don't even know how to wash the mattress topper and how much the bed is going to suck without it and when the eff am I ever going to truly get caught up on laundry if he keeps pissing everywhere and why didn't I just get over my lazy self and carry him back to his bed so he would have been roused enough to realize he had to pee in the TOILET and who likes changing the sheets at 4:30 am anyway and obviously he's going through something that is creating these behaviors so why can't I just be patient with him and hug him and fix it rather than stomping and crying like a child and when will I ever get sleep again and why can't I stop crying and why can't Dave just understand why I'm crying without me having to say it???
I tried to pull it together enough to not let on to Max that I was as upset as I was.  I was being somewhat successful and even gave him the biggest hug when he told me he wanted one.  That's where we were at when Dave entered and asked what's wrong, which made me cry more, which made him ask more and then I got mad he asked because then I was crying in front of Max and this snowball of emotion was gaining momentum.  I was afraid of the avalanche, so I said good night to Max and Dave put him back to bed.  I tried to just lay down hoping it would dissipate and I could just fall asleep.  But then Dave came back and God love him he wanted to help but also wanted to sleep and for some reason his wanting to sleep shone brighter.  So I grabbed the quilt and headed downstairs to start this never ending laundry train.  Then I lay on the couch so I could sob without the guilt of keeping Dave awake.  I haven't been able to cry myself to sleep so here I am documenting this wretched event.
I have been pretty good at expressing my frustration with situations involving Max without taking it out on him.  When we potty trained, it SUCKED when he had an accident.  I was able to tell him though that I didn't like changing his clothes or sheets, but I was still able to be encouraging and remind him "accidents happen, you'll do better."  These days I feel at a loss for the encouraging part and it breaks my heart.  I second guess my parenting all the time but I also feel confident in my choices (as if that makes sense).  I know I'm not perfect but I feel like Max is a polite, patient, smart, skilled, well-mannered, well-behaved child that everyone seems to enjoy, so I feel like I must be doing something right.  But this feels so wrong.  Not wrong like when I lie that we're out of ice cream because I don't want to share the last bowl or not like when I tell him the park is closed when I just don't have time to make that stop.  This feels wrong like unnatural to me.  It's going against my instincts as a mom, but at the same time I can't fight it.  I was so angry that Max peed the bed tonight.  Kids pee the bed!  He's freaking out about his brother coming soon!  He's very aware of it because it's all anyone who sees us can talk about!  And God love him, he peed the bed and apologized instantly!  Not out of fear, he was genuine.  People screw up, as I am right now, and I still was so focused on the damn sheets and laundry that I couldn't take the time to comfort him or even be around him to change his wet clothes.  I feel like a horrible mom.  I know one incident does not a terrible parent make.  But the fact that I can't control these feelings even though I know they're wrong is what makes me feel terrible.  This isn't a bad choice I made that I will learn from and do better.  If he has an accident tomorrow, I may lose my shit.  I don't want to, but timing is everything and if his timing sucks, it could all compound and then what??  (Max is not in any physical danger and I would never hurt him.  I know I have that self control.)  My worry is that I make him feel bad about something he probably can't help either.  And that is completely hypocritical of me and the beginnings of another feelings snowball rolling downhill.
I hope I can eventually sleep, but now it's 6:07 am and my alarm is set for 8:30 so we can take Max out to do something fun.  (Ironic.)  I hope I can sleep a bit and wake to tomorrow being better.  Because I don't really want to feel like crap and I definitely don't want Max to feel like crap because of me.

35 Weeks

So according to my earlier due date (Oct. 8), I am 35 weeks today.  According to my later due date, I will hit 35 weeks on Thursday.  Having to switch OB practices just 2 weeks ago, I have no idea which date my new doctor, who I haven't even met yet, will go by.  Nor do I know when he will be scheduling my C-section.  I keep telling myself this is how most pregnancies go; parents are rarely given the date and time of delivery and just have a ballpark date to go by.  However, having had a date that we lost seems to make this more difficult.
There's lots that's been more difficult this time around.  Or just different.  Both, maybe?  This time feels like it's the first time in so many ways.  I never felt Max kick or flip or move like this guy.  I feel like I'm carrying much differently this time.  Opposite seasons mean more swelling than I experienced with my first pregnancy.  Plus there's the whole "I already have a kid" thing which makes being pregnant all the more difficult.  I thought that would be counteracted by the whole "I don't have a job outside the home" thing, but it turns out my previous boss was much more understanding and patient than Max.  
My patience is running thin these days.  I feel bad about it.  I can't predict when I will have the patience of a saint that I feel I should have, especially with Max, or when I will blow a gasket because I can't find the Bactine or because I spilled the sugar or because the dog left pawprints on my freshly swept floor.  I know when I am acting irrationally even as it's happening but I can't stop it.  I'm whole heartedly sorry when it's happening, but I still don't stop.  Which is equally maddening and causes a whole snowball effect.  
Then there's the fact my Grammie died.  Last week.  We've known it's been coming for a while. Years, even.  And in recent months and weeks, we've known it was coming sooner than later.  She stopped being Grammie a while ago.  I began mourning when that happened, when Max stopped being a source of happiness for her.  When she didn't seem to care about our new addition to the family.  When she stopped using words to communicate regularly.  I was sad every time I went to visit her.  I visited her less frequently because I couldn't handle the emotional wringer it put me through.  But she had her ups every once in a while too, and I wanted to be there for those too.  It's been a long few months and I felt prepared for her death whenever it should come.  Even when we got the call a week and half before she died that she was "officially dying" (aren't we all?), I went to see her and we had a fleeting moment when I said goodbye.  She woke up briefly and put her hand on my cheek and smiled.  She spoke something that was either Polish or nonsensical words; either way, I will never know what she said.  But it was such a moment that I felt it was "our goodbye." I cried and thought that was it.  But it wasn't.  It felt odd to visit her after that moment, but I thought it was the right thing to do.  I cried when my mom called to tell me she was gone, but at the wake, I was as fine as could be expected.  A manageable sadness, but no tears.  (I was probably distracted by having to explain everything to Max, who is smart enough at 3-1/2 to not be satisfied by euphemisms.)  The funeral, not so much.  The next day, not so much.  When I finished a jar of jelly we had made together last summer, not so much.  Seemingly normal reactions to a grieving granddaughter, but my emotions make me feel so out of control sometimes.  
I love being pregnant, despite the tiredness, the difficulty in dressing, the swollen feet, the tiredness, the discomfort, the insanity of a zillion doctor appointments, the tiredness....Yes, despite all these inconveniences, I love feeling the kicks, I love reading everything I can with each passing week, I love planning for a newborn, I love the idea of growing new life inside me, I love the anticipation of meeting a new person to add to our family.  So all these loves outweigh the negatives in my mind.  I am just not sure about my emotional instability.  I feel pretty borderline much of the time when my hormones are in check.  Now the tears come way too easily, as does the rage and impatience.  Thankfully I have a very understanding and patient husband and a forgiving son.  I just get nervous thinking about if this is our last child or if we (I) have it in us (me) to do this again.
Then I think to myself, Let's just see how this goes.  We don't have to sign any contracts right now.  It took us (me) a while to be ready to have #2 and so far that's challenging but working out fine.  If we decide to go for 3, we obviously can't do it right away anyway, so why worry about it now?  
Right?  
Except I also happen to do a lot of worrying typically and even more when I am pregnant.  So like so much else, I probably will continue to do so.

This was the last time they saw each other.  He's going to miss his buddy, but I know she's watching over him and his little brother. 

This is a Grammie quote.  She put it in her autobiography that was published a few years ago through Hospice.  It's a gift we're all grateful to have.

This is when Grammie proudly gave us our completed wedding quilt.  We had been married for about 5 years at this time, but that obviously didn't matter.  We are grateful to have the beautiful handiwork of Grammie forever.