|That's a toothbrush, not a cigarette. In case the PJ's and splattered mirror weren't enough indication.|
When I was pregnant with Henry, I wrote several posts about my pregnancy experience. This time? Not so much. I blame the toddler and the fact that I cannot sit down at the computer without him sidling up and asking to "yook at pictures, Momma?" And they are all pictures of baby Henry, so I gladly oblige. We'll pretend that this update did not take me a week to write and that I am not now 37 weeks pregnant.
So here's a little update on pregnancy #2.
In the interest of honestly and vulnerability and even a little posterity: this pregnancy has not been nearly as magical as the first go around.
Yes, there are so many people that would LOVE to be sitting here (however uncomfortably) at 36 weeks pregnant. I do not take for granted this life that I carry inside of me and the fact that it came so easily to me. And yes, there are women who have morning sickness until the day that they give birth. And pregnant women on bedrest or who deal with high risk pregnancies.
I know that I am lucky. Like, really, really lucky and shouldn't complain at all. I know that.
But that doesn't change the fact that the nausea, sciatic pain, rib pain, moodiness, and exhaustion of this pregnancy have been a little hard on me. My memories of the first trimester revolve around me lying on the couch during the bitter winter trying my best to play with Henry while I alternated between wanting to cry, fall asleep, or throw up. I did the former two quite a bit, the latter not quite as much, thankfully.
The second trimester, that fun middle part was a lot of forgetting that I was pregnant because I was too busy taking care of a nearly-two-year-old and buying a house and solo parenting while my husband traveled for his job as a Student Pastor.
The third trimester is simultaneously zooming at the speed of light and dragging on. Not sure how that happens, but we are getting to the impatient point. Which is a shame, since we have just less than four weeks baby boy's due date. I'm pretty darn uncomfortable. I carry my babies HIGH and that means that anything but lying in bed involves a burning sensation in my ribs. If you know me in real life and see my with my hands resting on top of my belly, it's not so much a sweet gesture of relishing in my state (though I do love this boy so!) but more of an attempt to move this kid out of my ribcage.
BUT, in spite of all this I am working to treasure the kicks and hiccups. I haven't had any signs of labor or anything yet, so I am sitting tight and thinking he will be born close to his due date. I loved being pregnant and looked forward to being pregnant again, so I know that there are things I will really miss.
Had I actually finished writing this post when I started it, I would have said in bold, "I'M SCARED OF GIVING BIRTH, AGAIN."
Reading up on natural childbirth, practicing relaxation and breathing techniques, and giving myself some positive birth affirmation phrases to repeat and think on have been so helpful. Although we opted for a hospital birth again this time, I am stil planning on being extremely selective about what (if any) interventions are used. Remembering the euphoria of meeting Henry for the first time just over two years ago reminds me that this will be an experience that is stored in my soul for the rest of my life.
This could be my last pregnancy, and I know that I will miss the feeling of cradling this boy safely inside of my belly. It's fun to wonder if he will look just like his big brother or if he will look completely different. Revelling in the suspense and surprise is something to be enjoyed.
Yet we are ready. READY. Not ready as in things are done, our house is clean, our freezer well stocked, our bags packed. But ready to meet our precious newborn boy. I'm in a pretty good headspace when it comes to the idea of waiting. I know that once he is here, he will be HERE and have near-constant needs (the nerve!) and my life will start looking a whole lot different. Different in a hard, good way.
The thing that I am treasuring the most during the next few weeks of waiting is my time with Henry. Sweet, sweet, Henry. My firstborn. My little lovebug. He's been pulling away from me a little lately, which in some ways is good. He's clinging on to Daddy even more, which means my heart is usually to be found melted on the floor. I don't have any doubts about the fact that I am always his momma, and he knows and feels that. But there is a difference in the relationship that we share. It used to feel that he constantly needed me and now, that neediness for Momma just comes in bursts here and there. The scraped knee, the overtired bedtime, the strange situation. Pausing and reveling in those little arms around my neck, the two-hands-on-my-cheeks kisses and the whispers of, "One more minute, Momma" is one of the greatest joys of my life.
Also to note is the fact that I've reached the, "Ehhh, we've done enough to prepare" nesting stage. I don't know if I just am super lazy or unwilling to give up things like the last few weeks of napping when Henry does, but I have zero desire to clean baseboards, organize closets, or clean out the fridge. I'm still just as good at procrastinating as I was in college. Even to the point of thinking that I can just vacuum this or that during the early stages of labor. Yes, I know, bad idea.
There it is. The one and only time I've written anything about being pregnant with my second bundle of joy. And now? Let's just bring on the crazy ramblings of the momma of a newborn and a toddler!