Time. It flies.

Wow. 60 days left. I can't believe it. So where the hell have I been? Well, I know I suck, trust me I do. We had all sorts of things happening. We finished up renovations, I was diagnosed with low amniotic fluid and spent 2 weeks on partial bed rest (in bed right after work and all weekend), I got sick, Luke got sick, Ziggy had tooth issues, Luke got braces and I hit a slump of 3rd trimester depression, which is probably the primary reason for my absence.

I'm so huge and so uncomfortable and in so much pain CONSTANTLY between my tail bone and my pubic bone and my feet and my everything and rather than whine over it all, I just chose to hide for a while.

I guess the biggest news of the past few weeks is Luke's braces. Wow, what a trauma this has been. He's only about to turn 9, so he has braces SUPER early and because of that he lacks some of the maturity that braces require - to understand pain and that it won't last forever. He lays on the floor for literally HOURS at a time and just wails over the pain. I'm pretty sure that it's half drama and half pain since a game of Clue or a swim in the pool will suddenly take his mind off of everything and he becomes fine.

He got them so young because he plays football and he had a serious permanant buck tooth that was sticking out so far that one solid hit in a football game could sentence him to a lifetime of a falsie. Plus, he was made fun of a few times in school this past year over his tooth and that was reason enough to get the braces on and get him past this as quick as possible.

It's got me thinking a lot about my own childhood and how different Luke's is. Luke has never experienced severe emotional or physical pain yet. Yes, his parents are divorced, but we divorced when he was 6 months old and he's never seen us argue and he has pretty great (for the most part) step parents. It's a far cry from having to call 911 when you're 8 because daddy is beating the shit out of mommy...which was a regular occurance in my fabulous childhood.

For the most part, Luke is living the childhood that I always wished I'd had. His parents are involved in his life and see him as important enough to spend our time at ballparks for hours on end to cheer him on and buy into his dreams. He never has to worry about bills not getting paid (my mother REGULARLY dumped her financial woes onto her children). He has a house and a backyard and his own room and his dad doesn't get drunk and accidentally mistake his bed for the toilet.

It's a fairly charmed life. So when he's wailing on the floor, while most of me pains inside with him and just wants to sit and stroke his hair...there's another part of me that thinks, yep son, this is life, this is pain, I'm sorry you had to meet pain, but here it is, might as well get acquainted with it.

Does that sound horrible? What I'm trying to say is that while his life is charmed, I don't want him to grow to adulthood totally oblivious to difficulties in life and I wonder if maybe I'm partially guilty of overcompensating for my own suck ass childhood by making his life too easy...too cozy...too painfree.

I mean, which life is better? The suck ass life that chews you up and spits you out as an overly independant and responsible adult. Or the charmed life that leaves you naive and vulnerable and brings pain when the perfect world collapses around you.

I don't really want Luke to have either of those lives. I'd like him to fall somewhere in the middle. So while he wails, I do the dishes. I do an appropriate amount of hair stroking and catering and Motrin pushing and ice cream scooping, and then I leave him to figure this all out on his own.

I'm not sure if that's the right decision and I guess I'll find that out if/when he ever requires therapy in adulthood, but for now, it seems right so I'll just go with that instinct for now.