Here’s my weekly pregnancy post, which you can find at http://herdaily.com/parenting/
Today, I’m six months pregnant. I have something the size of an ear of corn living inside of me. That is a very big size of something to be living inside of you. We had a check-up yesterday and got to see our little lady, who always plays shy for the camera. I love her. And I’m really ready for her to be out here and not in there.
I’m almost done with my second trimester and I’ve never reached the promise lands.
For those of you unfamiliar with the different phases of pregnancy, there is an urban legend out there that the second trimester of pregnancy is a glorious place, full of unicorns and no morning sickness (and an increased appetite for, um, “attention’ from your spouse). During the second trimester, you are rich with energy and spend your days giving off the most heavenly glow of pregnancy. You have a perfect bump and your feet aren’t swollen. Your pre-pregnancy jeans fit with the help of a belly band and your t-shirts are snug, but look precious covering up that stomach of yours. Everything is glorious, perfect. You are woman, creating life. Things couldn’t possibly be better.
I’ve labeled that rumor as an urban legend because I have yet to experience it. I doubt I will.
I will even go a step further and admit something that I haven’t heard many say — being pregnant sort of sucks.
Now, before you go ahead and rip me a new one as you lecture me on what a precious gift I am about to receive — trust me. I get it. And I started this post saying I already love little Lady S., correct? I’d puke every day for nine months (which I may end up doing anyways) if it meant bringing our happy, healthy daughter into this world.
But that’s where I want her — here.
I haven’t yet had a glorious day of pregnancy. I had a wicked first trimester. I woke up the morning of my second trimester with the hopes that things worked like a Disney movie. Perhaps a little blue bird was going to come to my window and sing away all my pregnancy troubles.
No such luck.
I’m tired. I’m so damn tired. And I know — I’ll be tired after I have the baby, too. But here’s the thing — at least there is a reason to justify that tired. You’re caring for an infant. You’re chasing a toddler around all day. Right now, I spend much of my time sitting at a desk. But I leave work every day craving a three hour nap.
And food? We’re frenemies nowadays. I spend nearly all of my waking hours despising it — the smells, the textures. Everything turns me off. Then, around 9:00 every night, I want to eat everything. Except nothing ever sounds good. Do you even understand that frustration?! (But if you’re my husband, don’t answer that. It may frustrate you more than it frustrates me.)
I wake up 3 – 5 times a night to pee.
I’ve gained weight and my pre-pregnancy pants have been relegated to a bottom drawer because they no longer fit my pudgey (NOT bump-tastic) stomach. But maternity pants? They don’t fit yet either! I feel like Goldilocks, except nothing ever fits just right.
I’m grouchy. I’m moody. I cry over everything.
They say the best things in life are worth waiting for, right? Gosh, that’s a lot of pressure to put on an infant.
(She better not let me down.)
(Not really kidding.)