The dreaded pregnancy post. As usual, feel free to move along if food aversions and placenta placement aren’t your bag, baby.
This will be my only prego recap this time around—the second child neglect is already starting—so I will try to cover everything.
When I found out I was pregnant, it couldn’t have been better news. I know the old cliché of having a baby to improve a crappy situation usually ends up with a bigger mess than before, but for our little family unit, it’s exactly what we needed. We could be distracted from other people’s messes and had a teeny tiny acorn-sized reminder of hope and possibility. It was a good day.
Addison was the first person I told. After I picked her up from preschool on a Thursday, I asked her if she wanted to know my secret. She said no, but I spilled the beans anyway. She did a fabulous job of not telling anyone by accident for several months. When we were ready to start spreading the news to close friends and family, she was our accomplice. I would ask her, “Addison, what’s mommy’s secret?” And she would whisper, “There’s a baby in mommy’s tummy.”
And then we all died from the adorableness. Except me. I belched because I was disgustingly bloated.
The first trimester…well, it’s over. So that’s reason to celebrate. Much like last time, it wasn’t earth shattering but it was zero fun. I had to take progesterone, which comes with familiar side effects like nausea, bloating, headaches, hot flashes and aching boobs. Need I list the symptoms of first trimester pregnancy? I don’t know if my nausea and excessive bloating were from the itty bitty babe or the meds, but they raged until trimester two. I had Clayton bring me home hospital scrubs from work and lived in them for about two weeks when the idea of a waistband grazing my stomach was too much to handle.
Hence the oversized t-shirt as a Halloween costume.
I ate way too many Chick-fil-A fried chicken sandwiches with extra pickles and Chick-fil-A sauce. Like, way too many. Almost nothing sounded appetizing, so I tried not to worry about the junk I was eating and told myself it was better to eat something than nothing for three months. As my doctor pointed out, “There’s protein in there somewhere.” Amen, sister.
Once the drugs and the first twelve weeks were behind me, I sailed into the sweet spot. I hadn’t really planned out the timing, but this pregnancy has been impeccable for the ol’ schedule. Most importantly, I will avoid being pregnant during the hottest months of the year. Holla! (Are we still saying holla? I don’t know. I’m old.) And as it turns out, the weeks I felt my best coincided with the chaos of the holidays. They were a normal level of exhausting rather than a send-me-into-a-month-long-hibernation level of exhausting.
In November and December we traveled for Thanksgiving, shook our groove thangs at Clayton’s work party until the wee hours, saw The Black Keys and hosted a Friendsmas dinner, all while smiling and not dry heaving.
After PDQ mistakenly gave me a grilled chicken sandwich instead of turkey, I haven’t been able to eat chicken. Something about biting into that thing expecting one taste and getting blindsided by different poultry was more than I could take.
This was also the trimester I realized no one cares that you are pregnant the second time around, especially your other offspring. People will ask you the obligatory questions, but since there’s an actual named little person running around, conversation and activities revolve around the kid that we can see. The bump better hang on tight because little changes in day to day life. Gone are the days of foot massages and back rubs. Toddlers still gotta eat, take baths, have their teeth brushed, get to preschool and not impale themselves on household objects.
Oh, and we found out the little peanut is a BOY. Much giggling and baby clothes swapping occurred.
Trimester OMG This is Really Happening
I am legitimately fuhreaking out that I will be full term in six weeks. I can’t even type that. We have, shall we say, slacked in the preparation for baby department. The nursery is still an office/guest bedroom, only now there are bins of unsorted clothes and baby toys stacked in the closet. My nesting translated more into maternity clothes shopping sprees and sorting through seven years of utility bills rather than more productive tasks like choosing paint colors and buying a crib. Oopsies.
Some progress is progress, right?
Luckily, I still feel pretty good—albeit very, very round–and can wrangle some energy when I need to. There was the tiniest of worries this week that had a very distant possibility of bed rest, and well, that just would have been laughable considering the state of our to-do list. I’m not too concerned because at least this time I know we have a few weeks after his arrival before the nugget will actually be sleeping in his own room. (I do, however, have concerns about a certain father attempting to operate power tools to finish some elaborate projects while sleep deprived.) Basically, I’m just trying to stay as zen as possible until I can drink wine again.
Similar to my first rodeo, I haven’t had too many cravings and instead experience more food aversions. My cravings are more moment-specific. One day all I can focus on is downing a huge salad and the next day lettuce sounds like an abomination. Doughnuts are back, and much like before, I’ll cut you for a Boston cream.
What else, what else…my wedding rings still fit, I don’t have that dark line on my stomach (yet), I found the world’s most comfortable pajama pants that aren’t even technically maternity and I don’t have gestational diabetes. Holla! (Whatever, I’m rolling with it.)
This kid moves ALL THE TIME. With Addison, my placenta was in the front, so I couldn’t feel her very much. This little break dancer parties all day, every day. I never thought I’d be into it, but I sort of love it.
Ambivalence tends to be the name of the game. I am not the girl who loves being pregnant. It’s strange and achy and everything abnormal is normal; I have no idea whose body this is. On the other hand, I realize how very fortunate I am to have such smooth, healthy pregnancies and am thankful the most serious complication has been picking a name. Which we still have not done.
Nameless or not, I absolutely cannot wait to meet my baby boy.