So. You guys. I am nineteen weeks pregnant today. And I know that you’ve all noticed that I haven’t posted since week sixteen. NOT. Hey, I never said I would be consistent. In fact, I even said I wouldn’t be in my About Me section. So. There. But. I am still alive. And still pregnant. Rose and I have been visiting my family in California for almost two weeks. It has made me miss California. Miss the beautiful weather, and the way life is lived outdoors. And Rose loves it too. Because we are always outside. Always. But. It reminds me of being pregnant with her. And I keep remembering where I was at nineteen weeks with her. And how freaking sick I was. And how I could not stop thinking about the fact I was pregnant for a second. I was so preoccupied with the pregnancy that it is amazing that I was able to accomplish anything other than being pregnant. By nineteen weeks with Rose, I had already been into Labor and Delivery Triage with cramping. I had lost a lot of weight. Pregnancy was a job in itself with my first pregnancy- which was difficult because I had a job and school that needed to be tended to as well. Every week seemed to drag on and on and on. This time around? Haven’t even called my doctor with issues. I often forget I’m pregnant. I do still feel sick, and exhausted is my constant state of being. I’m still not sold on the second semester being the best- not much has changed yet. But. I’m not huge (yet). I can keep food down even without the constant help of Zofran (usually). And I think that I’ve started to keep the craziness in check (sorta… those around me probably disagree). I could write more, but I want go enjoy my last days in California- I have no idea when I’ll be back, how huge I might be, or how many kids I will have with me (although, no more than two, I assure you).
As I get ready to press “Publish” on this post, I realize that it seems very whiny and complainy. That was not my intention when I set out to write it. I wanted to write honestly about my pregnancy, and this is what came out. Please know that I am grateful and amazed at what my body can do. I am happy that I am having another child. I just happen to rather despise the whole actually being pregnant thing. It is what it is. With that in mind, read on;
Every pregnant woman has their “day.” If you’ve ever been pregnant, you know what I’m talking about. I’m not talking about the day that we give birth or the day we hear the heartbeat for the first time or the day the test turns out positive. No, this day is a magical day that comes once every week. It is the day of the week where you wake up, and suddenly you are a week farther along in your pregnancy (okay, technically still just one day more pregnant than the day before, but still). Your pregnancy app on your phone lets you know the size of the baby (always using food references, always), and gives you all sorts of information that will cause you to stress out for the next week about your developing baby. Your day is determined by your due date, and can fall on any day of the week. With Rose our day was Friday. With this pregnancy, our day is Monday. So, according to my due date, I am sixteen weeks pregnant today.
I have to say that announcing that I am pregnant is something that makes me feel really awkward. Especially the second time. Especially when it is so soon after the first. Especially when people are so quick to judge and give their opinion about my developing child, and the child that I already have, and the birth, and the pregnancy, and freaking everything. Seriously. If you don’t already know that people are judgmental and like to think they are right, that they have the solution, and that they think they know what is best for you, just go get knocked up. For real. Everyone has a life plan for you starting the second they give their congratulations or condolences or their “is this a good thing?” or, my personal favorite; “was it planned?” So, yeah, if I could just go ahead and never, ever have to tell anybody I was pregnant ever again, that would be great. I hate the pregnancy announcement thing so much that I suggested to my husband that we don’t tell anybody, and just let them figure it out themselves (at some point I hope they wouldn’t just think I was getting fat). I think he thought I was joking. I wasn’t. So, clearly we didn’t come up with some cutesy idea to tell everybody that I was pregnant. Now everybody knows, so I guess that’s good. Especially since I’m not getting any smaller. Honestly, we haven’t had any too awful reactions… yet. At least nobody has done anything like this:
I know that a lot of people looooove taking and posting belly pictures. I am not one of those people. Especially not at this point when my belly is the size of my 24 week pregnant stomach in my first pregnancy. So, I know that is one of the things people want to know and see, but I already feel too self-conscious about it, so it won’t be happening. And spare me the lecture on how pregnancy is beautiful and all that bull. I don’t feel that way and I will not be changing my tune anytime soon, because, for me, pregnancy blows. I could do without the belly stares, and shit that comes along with the growing belly. Don’t even get me started on strangers touching my belly. Although, now that I am started, let me say; FOLKS, YOU ARE NOT TOUCHING A BABY, YOU ARE TOUCHING A GROWN WOMAN’S STOMACH!!! IF YOU WOULDN’T TOUCH THAT PERSON IF THEY WEREN’T PREGNANT DO NOT TOUCH THEM NOW. Seriously, I don’t understand.
Anyway… This was not meant to be a rant and complaint post, but it has veered off the tracks, so let me try to do what I meant to do when I started this post; to give you guys a few pregnancy details.
Due Date: September 23, 2013
Cravings/ Aversions: Ha. This one is funny. I feel like I don’t have any real cravings or aversions. Until I am hungry. Then I want exactly what I want, and it is never, ever something we have in our house. Like for real. I never want to eat anything in our house. My days usually go like this; I wake up, take medication so I’m not sick all day, drink coffee, eat eggs and toast for breakfast, eat eggs and toast for lunch, husband gets home, asks what I want for dinner and I say nothing, I contemplate what I want for an hour, decide on something (sandwiches, Chiptole, pho, chili,<—– the usual suspects, etc.), I tell the husband, he laughs and asks if I really can’t eat anything at home, I tell him no, and we go get whatever I want to eat. And then I decide I never want to eat again. Never, ever, ever, ever. Then I repeat the process every single day. So,? Whatever particular thing I have to have at the time the husband gets home from work. And aversions? Apparently everything we have in our refrigerator and cabinets. Except for eggs and toast. I guess I’ve been eating a lot of those, which I really didn’t even realize until now… Also, if possible, I have an aversion to cooking, although I think that this has less to do with pregnancy and more to do with the fact that I just don’t like to cook. Something else that is kind of strange is that my sweet tooth is less intense than my non-pregnant self (and waaaaaay less intense than my pregnant-with-Rose self). In fact, I haven’t craved many sweets (except for a chocolate malt shake I had to have), and barely ate any cake at my sister-in-law’s birthday (which is super-strange; usually I want all the cake with extra frosting).
Emotions: Ummmmm, yeah. I almost named this category ‘Hormones/ Crazy Pregnant Lady.’ I think that pretty much explains that. I am mostly always either pissed off at someone (the person is often a stranger), crying about something, or, briefly, insanely happy. I don’t know why our hormones do this to us when we’re pregnant, but it suck. I’m just unpleasant lately. I’m going to leave it at that.
Food Baby: Apparently the baby is the size of an avocado. I feel conflicted about this because avocado sounds pretty gross. Unless it is in the form of Chipotle guacamole. Then it’s okay. So I’ll just imagine I have 4.5 ounces of guacamole in my womb, okay?
Random: While I have been running and walking some, my ligaments are stretching, and it kills my hips. Plus, I don’t want to push myself too hard while pregnant, so my exercise has been nothing like I like. I want to feel like I’m going to die at the end of a workout or run. I just can’t push myself like that while pregnant (not good for baby or Mama). As a result of my lame workouts I’ve been dreaming about intense workouts. The other night I dreamt I was running a marathon. Then I had a dream I was doing Insanity and ab ripper from P90x. It felt so real, and waking from those dreams is a huge disappointment. I’m weird, and I know it. I also know that when I get the clear to exercise postpartum I will be doing Insanity again.
Sooo. That’s where I am at sixteen weeks pregnant. Not sure if this is interesting or if I’m completely forgetting to talk about something, but that’s all I can think of for now.
Hey! I bet you were all super worried that I disappeared for good. No? Hmmmm. Well, apparently I didn’t. I’m still here. Still alive. I’ve just been… uninspired. I don’t know what to write. And then I do know what to write, but I don’t know when to write it. And then I do know when to write it and I just don’t remember how. Does that sound weird? It is. Like I said in my About section; I’ll write when I want, if I want, when I have something to say. I never said I had important things to say. Anyway…
Rose turns one on Saturday. ONE! For those of you that aren’t parents, let me explain what this means; it means she is totally grown up. She is a big girl. She is no longer my baby. She talks (well, says a few words), she walks (a few feet), and she knows what she wants, when she wants it, and how to get it. The last few days I’ve been reflecting on the past year. I’ve shed a few tears over the passage of time, as I remember the early days when she couldn’t say ‘that,’ when I had no idea what she wanted, but had to figure it out. I think about the days when I had a huge belly. The mornings I woke, had contractions for an hour, and wondered if that would be the day. And then I remember the nights I fell asleep, realizing that day wasn’t her day. And then neither was the next day. Or the day after that. And then, suddenly, if was her day. And it was my day. It was our day. My belly, though far from flat, was no longer her home. My arms were where she belonged. I no longer wondered what her eyes would look like. I didn’t have to question whether she would look like me (she didn’t- to this day she’s her Daddy’s finest work). That day. The day she became mine, she made me something I thought I understood, but really, I had no idea; she made me a Mom. She changed my life. I look at her in awe these days; she’s becoming an individual. I no longer see a baby when I see her. I see my independent, beautiful, silly, willful daughter. I see those same big brown eyes that stared up at me the evening of March 2, 2012. The eyes I looked into that night, the eyes of the baby that I told; “I don’t know what I’m doing, but we’ll figure it out together.” Truer words have never been exchanged between us. Everyday we wake up, everyday is different, and everyday I have no idea what I’m doing, but we figure it out together.
And now… now it is time for us to go. To do laundry. To clean the bathrooms. To read books. To dance. To play with her baby doll. To find things in the carpet. To kiss. To screech. To laugh. To cry. Whatever we do these days, we do together. And we figure it all out.