Side effect: Bravery?

So you guys have no doubt heard me moan and drone over the past eight-ish months about the side effects of this wonderful thing we call pro-creation.  There have been vision problems, nausea and vomiting, nose bleeds, and many, many other ailments that have come my way in these 35 weeks.  At times the suck-factor of pregnancy has been 10+, but as I sit here and write, my little man has the hiccups causing my whole belly to jump, and well - I can already tell you that he's gonna be worth it.

Pregnancy does have it's positives.  I grew a cup size (woohoo!), prior to bed rest - people were super nice to me and always held the doors open for me and offered to help frequently with anything I did,  the vitamins gave me smooth skin and long, healthy fingernails, and I got to buy a new wardrobe (I think that's a positive) to name a few. 

As previously mentioned, I have been re-reading the Harry Potter series, and I'm currently half way through fourth installment, The Goblet of Fire.  This book begins to show the darker side of the series, and it is no longer as light-hearted as the first three.  I am a scaredy cat - and while I don't shake in my bones reading this one (that happens in the books 5-7) it makes me nervous.  The Goblet of Fire just so happened to be on TV last night as well.  So, I have a fresh memory of exactly what Voldemort (the bad guy, for you non-Harry Potter readers) looks like.  He creeps me the freak out.  Annd I keep hearing the music of the Tri-Wizarding tournament before the maze scene, which while light-hearted and springy, leads to the scariest part of the movie.  So basically what I'm trying to tell you is - I was nervous when I went to bed last night.  Also suffering from insomnia - what a way to spend the night.

A good ten minutes after I lay down, Nate's sound asleep, Bailey is snoring and I'm staring at the ceiling. (Stop picturing Cedric die) I toss (stop thinking about Voldemort's weird nose and ugly head) and turn (stop thinking about Harry's pain) and then...I have to pee.  I don't know about y'all, but since I was little, I decided that as long as I was under the covers in bed, I was safe - only when my foot or hand slipped off the side was I vulnerable to the bad things (wolves, monsters, whathaveyou).  Even if I am sweating profusely, I'm not taking those covers off!  Well going to the bathroom involves leaving the safety of the fort - and I'm just not ready.  Peanut gives me a nice smack in the bladder and it's either wet the bed or get up. 

I think happy thoughts and crawl out of bed (only after shining my cell phone light at the floor to ensure that Voldemort isn't there) and begin my journey to the bathroom.  Half-way there, I ran into something around knee height at the foot of my bed.  A freaking shirt.  (Where is my wand?!)  I felt freaking clothes, someone is perched at the foot of the bed on all fours waiting to jump up and curse me, the chocolate dog and my husband who is blissfully unaware that I even left the bed.  You know what I did?  

I turned around and kicked the sh*t out of it.  It was at that moment that I (my toe) realized my dear sweet, blissfully unaware husband left a piled-high laundry basket at the foot of the bed with one of his shirts lying over the top so that it felt like a t-shirt draped over someone's back. 

I then walked on to the bathroom and cried.  No really, I didn't cry, but I was sweating so bad that my clothes were stuck to me and I felt like my heart was just going to pound right out of my chest.  Then it occurred to me - the thought that crossed my mind when I walked into this would-be-attacker was, "oh hell no you didn't - this is MY house and I will protect my family."

Where in the WORLD did that come from?  If this would have been a few years ago, I would have screamed, jammed my fingers in my ears, and ran to the bathroom, locking the door for Nate to have to deal with the offender alone. (Chicken.  I told ya!)  But somewhere in this past few months I found something - courage or bravery or some sense of protectiveness over the things that mean the most to me. 

Had that actually been someone crouched at the foot of my bed (after slapping Bailey for being a terrible guard dog) I would have realized that my kick would have done little to no good.  It wouldn't have maimed them or even hurt them, but daggum it, I would have tried.  I guess being protective is part of the package of becoming a Mom.  Perhaps those maternal instincts will kick in after all...