Who you calling Special?

We're in the home stretch now, friends. I am officially 33 weeks pregnant and my doctor tells me she won't deliver me any later than 39 weeks. That leaves 6 weeks to go. Mac is measuring big (go figure) so there is a possibility he'll be delivered at 38 weeks - and share a birthday with his Auntie Gina. 5 weeks sounds even more manageable. At my next appointment, Dr. Witchy Poo (Do you like it? It has a nice ring to it, I think.) will officially schedule my C-section and the real countdown to Mac can begin.

Of course, all of this would be irrelevant if I suddenly went into labor. But do we really want to go there? I think not.

I've discovered that some people seem to have a problem with the fact that Jay and I have decided to have another child. Dr. Phil told the OctoMom recently that no child should be born with a "job." In her case, she's expecting those 8 babies to get to work and make her feel whole and complete and loved unconditionally. In our case, I suppose people think Mac was conceived in order to be his sister's savior and caretaker. Supply her with cord blood and a stash of stem cells. Be a role model for her development. Make sure she's taken care of when Jay and I are dead and gone. He's here simply to serve his sister.

So here's what I have to say to you haters out there: mind your own business.

We would be total liars if we said that all of that didn't cross our minds when deciding to add another member to the family. In fact, I think I mentioned all three of those things in my original post announcing the impending arrival of the Macadoodle. But this is one of those situations when I don't think you should pass judgment unless you've walked a mile in my loafers.

Our most fervent wish for Lois is that someday she will be able to live an independent life. Work at a job. Have friends. Participate in her community. But we know she will always need the support and guidance of her family. And we also know that someday we won't be able to fill that role anymore. The idea of leaving Lois here alone to fend for herself sounds utterly heartbreaking. "Frankly, it's also rather melodramatic. We would certainly work to create supports for her and she does have two cousins who think she's the bees knees and who I believe will always watch out for her. But there is a certain peace in knowing that with Mac's birth, we will leave behind a guardian angel for Lois.

Yes haters, I realize this could totally back fire. He could grow up to resent his sister and want nothing to do with her as an adult. But I choose to believe that loving Lois will come as naturally to him as it has to Jay and I - and to most everyone who knows her. She is special. That's right. I said it. My kid is special. I'm sure there are challenges ahead for us as parents in order to make sure Mac doesn't grow up with resentment toward his sister - or vice versa. But we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, I imagine them taking baths together - walking hand and hand through the pumpkin patch - reading books to each other in bed. And I'd appreciate it if none of you messed with my Mary Poppins vision of the future, thank you very much.

I have already been given irrefutable evidence that Mac is a sensitive soul and just right for the job of being his sister's protector. (My sister may want to skip this part just in case she drowns in the puddle of sweetness I'm about to lay on you.)

You all know I've got some serious anxiety about the whole pregnancy thing - especially since at this point Lois had stopped moving, was allowing her heart rate to slow to the pace of a snail, and had arrived kicking and screaming at just under 4 pounds. I am on super high alert regarding Mac's movements or lack thereof. Thankfully, he obliges me most days by sticking his feet in my rib cage and banging his head against other overly sensitive areas further south. There's no denying his seemingly good health on those days. But there are times when he's quiet for a long period of time, and regardless of where I am or what I'm doing, I sense a tightness in my chest as the panic begins.

But my boy is obviously keenly aware of his mother's need for reassurance - and when I put my palm against my stomach yearning for just a flutter -he obliges with a well placed kick - seemingly directly under my palm. It's almost as if he's saying, "It's Ok Mom. I'm still here. Just relax." You see? He's already taking care of me. It's only natural to think he'll do the same for his sister.

That's right people. I won the proverbial lottery. I am going to give birth to not just one - but two very special babies. Special in different ways. But special, nonetheless.