Kung fu fighting.

What in the hell is going on in my body right now? Someone, who is already really large, is kicking me 24/7. It is the most painful thing ever. Miserable actually. And it almost never stops. I am glad to know she is doing okay in there but Jesus Christ. The kicking is getting to be intolerable. Kicking my lungs. Kicking my bladder. Perhaps she is teaching a spin class or doing the uneven bars on my rib cage? She is constantly flipping, rolling, dancing, doing cartwheels (I assume) or doing the Wobble. But there’s just not enough room in there for these antics. We are so tight on space. She is way too big for her residence and it’s basically making it impossible for me to sit down, drink or eat, or really even live without crying. It’s very intense and I cannot wait for 6-8 weeks from now when that is not a thing anymore.

I hate to say this because I know I am lucky to be pregnant and I am also very excited for this little nugget to get here, but man, pregnancy is not my thing. Many women say that pregnancy makes them feel beautiful or sexy. Those people are the worst. Because this is the least beautiful I have ever been in my life. At every step of this process, I have had the worst possible side effects. I have had fucking miserable morning sickness that lasted months longer than it was supposed to. I had nosebleeds for months. I have had headaches and dizziness. I have had trouble breathing. Horrendous heartburn. I pee like 10,983 times a day. My skin is itchy. I am fucking exhausted. Sometimes I am a little bitchy, also.

The only thing I have going for me is that my metabolism is amazing right now and I can eat a lot of cookies without getting super obese. But I am not sure that’s enough to convince me not to have an only child.

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Does everyone hate their kids?

I am not sure what it is about being pregnant that makes people want to share their every thought with you. People constantly tell me their horror stories about birth. It’s awful. I don’t need you to tell me about how much you bled, or how hard it was to breastfeed, or what labor feels like. I am good. I did the research. Your first-hand, horrifying account of your birth doesn’t help me to be less nervous. It makes it worse. Please stop.

But the thing people overshare about the most, I have found, is how hard it is to be a parent. Please excuse me, but … duh. I mean, obviously it’s hard. You have a tiny human that needs you for every little thing. They can’t do anything. And they never sleep. Obviously, it’s going to be hard. Really hard. I am not an idiot. I am aware of this.

But everyone talks about their kids like they are just awful. Like babies are little shitheads that are just the worst ever. I have heard so many versions of the following:

“Oh just wait, you will never sleep again.”

“Enjoy your husband while you can, because it’s never about you again.”

“Everything you own will be covered in poop and vomit.”

“Being a new mom is the hardest thing I have ever done.”

“Kids are so expensive.”

“Say goodbye to your social life.”

“Oh if you think you are tired now, just wait until she gets here.”

I mean really? Just stop. I having a baby. People do it all the time. And live to tell about it later. If it was so hard and so miserable, no one would have two kids. Everyone would be an only child. But that’s not the case. Babies can be terrible. And yes, they can be grumpy. But that’s why tiny humans are cute! So you want to keep taking care of them even though it is hard. But there’s obviously something incredibly rewarding about having kids. Or it wouldn’t be so common.

So please, just shut up. Let me enjoy things as they come. I know I will be tired. And covered in poop. And vomit. And I will have less time and certainly less spending money. But that’s what I signed up for. And it’s what you signed up for, too.

Maternity Photoshoot.

We had some maternity photos taken and I just love them. My friend Brooke, who I have known for almost 10 years, took them. She also knows my husband and is wonderful at making us comfortable. We both sort of despise photos, but I thought it was important to document this time in our lives, so I was so grateful to her for taking pictures we will love forever.

31 weeks…………..

Here we are, in single digits. 9 weeks to go. The countdown is on. I mean, clearly, a due date is a rough guess, so there’s no guarantee I will make it 9 more weeks and really no way to know that I don’t have 11 weeks to go. Anything is possible.

But holy shit. 9 weeks isn’t much. It’s 63 days. Two months. Nothing at all.

We are ready. At home, we are ready. We have the necessities and can function with a child. Things are purchased and in place.

Physically, I am tired of being gigantic. I am physically really, really ready for this pregnancy to be over so I can wear regular pants again. And see my feet. And have a waist. And run 6 miles.

Mentally…well, that’s another story. I have never been so panicked about something in my life. I am so mentally nervous about everything. Birthing. Being a mom. Surviving the first few weeks. I am very mentally prepared, but also very, very anxious. I did so much research. I know literally every possible thing that can happen during labor and in a delivery room. I know what to expect. I know what to expect in the first few weeks. I know what to be prepared for from the first contraction to taking her home. But man, am I anxious.

Last night, we celebrated our one year wedding anniversary. In many ways, I never thought I would be here a year ago. I mean, we definitely wanted kids and getting pregnant was not a surprise because I understand science. But I couldn’t have imagined what the last year would look like last June. I couldn’t have imagined the struggle, the challenges, the emotions.

One thing I do know is that I hit the jackpot with my husband. He has been my number one fan and supporter through a pretty rough pregnancy. He is an even better partner than I imagined he would be. I am so grateful.

When I look back, this year just went by so fast. And I can’t believe it’s been 31 weeks of pregnancy already. I mean, I can. When I look down. But it’s just crazy. I guess I have 9 weeks to get my shit together.

 

30 weeks!

Holy shit, man. 30 weeks. That is crazy. I survived 75% of this pregnancy. That also means that we are almost to single digits, people. Like a countdown is on. I got a text from a pregnancy app on my phone this morning that was like “Hey! 10 more weeks!” and I totally freaked out. 10 weeks sounds like nothing. Nothing at all. I am so not ready.

I mean, I am ready. The nursery is 90% done and we had one shower so we have a lot of what we need (carseat, diapers, stroller, tutus, black patent leather booties – the essentials). We finally picked a name! Yahoo! Which we are keeping secret, minus telling a couple of immediate family members. But that feels good to have the big thing marked off the list. Basically, if she showed up tomorrow, we would be okay. I hope she doesn’t. I need her lungs to cook a little longer and for her to fatten up, but we are prepared for her arrival. And that is good for me since I am a planny/organizey lunatic.

But, honestly, I am not mentally ready. Not 100%.

My favorite professor in college had her first child 9 years ago. When she was pregnant with her, her husband said to me (something like) “having a kid is crazy. You talk about it and talk about it and decide you are ready. And then when there’s a pregnancy, you are like ‘holy shit, did we really think this through??’ But there’s no going back.” When he said that to me, I was 24. I had no idea what it would be like to want a kid. It wasn’t on my radar. But that stuck with me for some reason. And he was so right. You feel like you mentally say, ok let’s do this! And then you are pregnant and all of the worry and fear comes out of nowhere. Will I be a good mom? Will I even know what to do? Will I be patient? Will I do the right things? Can I do this?

I think you just figure it out. You realize that every mom was a first-time mom at some point and they all survived. So that’s good to remember. Roughly ten more weeks of repeating that in my head and by then I can convince myself we will be fine.

Not to mention, 10 more weeks until I can have a beer doesn’t sound to bad to me.

 

Tired.

I am really tired. I am tired because I don’t sleep much. I wake up about 6 times a night. I am sure that is great training for me, but man, it’s hard. I am tired of worrying about what I can or cannot eat and if it will make me feel awful. I used to be able to eat whatever I wanted to, whenever I wanted to, but now if I even think about spicy food, I feel terrible. For hours. And I can’t sleep because my stomach hurts. I am tired of getting dressed. Nothing fits right. Nothing looks cute. And everything is too short. The bigger my belly gets, the sluttier my dresses get. It’s attractive. I am tired of people saying awkward things to me. I am tired of people telling me I am huge. Or that I finally look pregnant. Or asking how far along I am and then telling me how much longer I have to go. Or reminding me that summer is hot and I will be miserable. Ok, thanks. I hadn’t figured that out yet from the swamp ass I currently have 24/7.

I am tired of being pregnant. I know, it’s only June. But it’s hot, and I am huge and I am just over it. I have roughly 77 days to my due date and I am just about ready for her arrival. Other than at work. At work, I have so much to do. But at home, the nursery is done, the baby clothes are washed and everything is ready. I have a couple of showers coming up and then she can make her appearance.

I made it to the third trimester, so that is exciting. Finally past the worry phase now that this little lady is kicking me all over the damn place. It’s a little easier to feel like she is doing okay when she is actively punching me in the bladder. It’s crazy to think I only have about 2.5 months to go, but that’s about where I am. Getting really excited to meet her. If only we could decide on a name.

Slow crawl to the finish line.

One week to go until I start the third trimester. In a lot of ways, this pregnancy has gone by fast. But in more ways, it is crawling by. I am okay with that, as I still have a lot of work to do at work, specifically, before this girl gets here. But time is going by really slowly. I have kind of hit a pregnancy wall. I think it’s a little bit information overload and a little bit boring and non-exciting stuff going on.

The first trimester is very exciting in a lot of ways. You are keeping a secret for a long time. Hiding your stomach (which is now hilarious because now that I am actually showing I realize how much I was not showing when I felt like I was showing). Wishing and hoping that everything will be okay and that the baby is healthy. Counting the days until you feel like it’s safe to tell people. You also puke a lot. Minus the puking, that all makes the first trimester fun.

The second trimester is fun because you kind of start to show. You (mostly) stop vomiting. You get some energy back. You feel a little better. You can start planning. You buy things for the baby. You register for things. People start planning showers for you. You find out the sex. You start considering names for the tiny human. You start to get the nursery together. You feel pregnant in a good way.

And then the slow crawl comes. As I almost enter the third trimester, I am just in a blah phase. I hate getting dressed. I feel disgusting. My back is starting to hurt. People are starting to make comments about my body which just make me uncomfortable. I hate getting ready. I hate putting lotion on my belly twice a day. I hate when my lotion belly sticks to my clothes. I don’t really like looking in the mirror, even though, generally speaking, I have physically handled the pregnancy pretty well: I eat healthy and have not gained too much weight. I wobble when I walk. And I am so slow. I just want to be sitting down all the time. Actually I want to be asleep on my stomach all the time, but that is not an option. So sitting is the best.

I don’t want to wish time away. And, really, most of the time, pregnancy isn’t that bad. But I can understand why the third trimester is most people’s least favorite. And if this weekend’s weather was any indication, being super pregnant in the summer is not going to be fun. But I have two words for you: Maternity jorts.