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.

Mother’s Day.

I have the sweetest friends. Before I even showered on Sunday, I had about 5 texts from my friends wishing me a happy first Mother’s Day. Some even threw in compliments on my baby bump. Or that they think I will be a great mom. It could be the hormones talking but each one made me tear up. I am 100% scared to death of being a mom, but I also can’t wait. I know August will be here before I know it, and I am excited to meet this little lady. To see what she looks like. To see if she is as wild as she seems when she is having a late night dance party in my belly at 2 am. To see what she is like.

But I am not a mom. Yet.

Mother’s Day is a tough day in my household. My husband lost his mom to cancer in August of 2014. Mother’s Day brings up a lot of emotions in him in the weeks leading up to it and especially on that day. He throws himself into work or projects around the house and is always ‘busy’ when my family is celebrating Mother’s Day. And I completely understand.

This year, Mother’s Day was a big pile of emotion for me. I am pretty much in control of my emotions. I am not a crier. Even with hormones, I have had very few crying fits. I mostly express my emotions with humor or yelling. It’s a treat. But I do not cry much. But as I drove to Trader Joe’s on Mother’s Day to pick up four bouquets of flowers for the mamas I was going to see that day (my mom, my Mawmaw, my bonus mom (stepmom) Ann and my aunt Paula), I found my mind wandering. Thinking about this baby coming soon and just being completely heartbroken that Matt’s mom won’t get to meet her. Or know her. Or hold her. Or anything grandmas should get to do with their grandbabies. It’s just unfair. Unfair for him to lose his mama so young. Unfair for her that she doesn’t get to be here. Unfair for our kid or kids because they don’t get to know her. And so I just cried my eyeballs out.

I think Mother’s Day is hard for a lot of people. I, personally, know several people who are currently trying to get pregnant without any luck, people who have recently had a miscarriage, people who want to be pregnant so bad but for a variety of reasons are not able to be pregnant at the moment. And there are a lot of people who don’t have their moms anymore who don’t need a day reminding them of that person that is missing. And I would imagine that this day breaks their hearts. I am grateful to have my mom and to be pregnant and I try not to take that for granted. Especially on Mother’s Day.

My husband told me he was going to get me a Mother’s Day gift, but decided not to because he knows me well. I mean he literally said “I didn’t get you a gift because I know how you are.” And he was 100% correct. This is not my year for Mother’s Day. Mother’s Day is for people who have kids. Who do that hard work every day to take care of kids. Or who have raised kids. But I haven’t put in the work yet. I haven’t changed the diapers. Or paid for babysitters. Or cleaned up poop. Or put anyone in time out. Aside from puking for a couple of months, I haven’t done the hard work.

So I spent a lot of the day enjoying the mamas in my life. But I didn’t celebrate the day for me. Not yet. Next year though, maybe I will have a mimosa.

Too much information.

Because the first few months of being pregnant were full of feeling terrible, misery and worry, I didn’t do anything. I barely even thought about the fact that at the end of the pregnancy part, there was a human child joining our household. I was strictly surviving. We bought a crib and a changing table and some curtains for the nursery, but that was the extent of our planning.

Now I am in planning mode. I like to plan. My friends and husband are sometimes annoyed by this, but I do not like to be spontaneous. I am not really going to do something on a whim. I mean, I can do that. But when it comes to events, for example, trying to get ten people into a restaurant for someone’s birthday or anything that requires the coordinating of more than 2 people’s schedules, I like to have a game plan. I have now entered the planning portion of this pregnancy. Not necessarily even planning for the baby. Right now, I am mentally preparing for the birth. Planning my mental game plan for something that cannot be planned.

Planning for me starts with information. And right now, I am on information overload. I am gathering as much information as is humanly possible and sufficiently freaking myself out. I have signed up for several classes and a tour at my hospital. I have read a few books. I have read a little too much online. I have asked other people about their own birth experiences and grilled my doctor. And I have been binge-listening to this podcast, the Longest Shortest Time. (Highly recommended). Basically, I have soooo much information that I am ready for almost anything.

This is a huge mistake.

When you have a lot of information, you can also give your mind permission to wander all over the place. While I like to be prepared, preparing for a birth just seems pointless. But I know I can’t stroll into the hospital with any contractions and not know what to expect. So with a lot of research under my belt (no pun intended, I cannot wear belts right now). I know what to expect. A little too much.

I feel confident that I know every possible way to have a birth – in a hospital, in a tub full of water, etc. From epidural to hypnosis, I know how to anticipate dealing with the pain of contractions and delivery. And more graphically, I now know the things that can happen to you during a vaginal birth, including an episiotomy which I definitely do NOT want and very much recommend you do not Google. I also know almost everything that can happen during a C-section, including horrifying details of the surgery. I know about anesthesia, the general layout and what may or may not happen if everything is routine. I also, unfortunately, know all about what can go wrong.

So, I have about 4 months max before this kid gets here and basically, right now, I am ready for anything. And 100% completely horrified.

Vagina pains and Cheez-its.

My life used to be filled with drinking good beer or bourbon, watching sports, enjoying clothes and shoes, running, working, working on my house, etc. Now? It’s all about vagina pains and Cheez-its.

I cannot eat enough Cheez-its. I know those are gross and not natural and really not healthy, but seriously, it’s one of the only foods I want to eat. Stop judging me. And then there’s that vagina pain.

“Have you had that stabbing pain in your vagina yet,” my co-worker asked. (Side note: nothing is weird anymore.)

“Why yes, I have,” I replied.

I never in my wildest dreams imagined a conversation like this happening. Let alone bringing me comfort. But it happened. And I felt better after talking to her about my stabbing vagina pains.

Things are shimmying in my body. I am having what I like to call Toni Braxton-Hicks. They are pretty uncomfortable. But my body feels tight and miserable all the time. And there are some shooting pains in my crotch pretty regularly. Kind of like riding a bike for 10 years. None of this seems like something normal or what should be happening, but I kind of assume at this point (due to conversations with my OBGYN) that nothing is a reason for alarm unless there’s blood accompanying it. So, I am cramping and squeezing and stretching constantly and sitting with really awkward posture for some relief. And when someone randomly asked me if I had had those stabbing vagina pains, I thought, YES! I know what you are talking about! I have had those! And they must be normal! YAHOO!

And it wasn’t even weird.

Up here, Michael.


No one looks at my face anymore. And no, they aren’t looking at my boobs. People are just always staring at my stomach. Like mentally measuring it from the last time I saw them. Trying to see if they can spot a bump. Or a bigger bump. Maybe it’s because people don’t feel comfortable just going right in there for the belly rub. Or maybe they just like checking out my bod. Either way, I feel like I am on display. It makes me self conscious about everything I wear all the time. I have gotten into a bad habit of wearing a lot of baggy dresses which are as flattering as a pillow case. But that way, I don’t bring so much attention to my body and instead people talk to me like a human, rather than a host for a fetus parasite. A cute fetus parasite but still. Mama does not like.

21 weeks!

We had our anatomy scan yesterday and our follow-up with the high risk doctor to talk about the scary blood test. As it turns out, everything is fine. It appears that sustaining yourself on a three month diet of Sour Patch Kids and water is good for the baby. Anyway, the test was apparently a false alarm. Now I am taking baby aspirin every day to hopefully prevent any chance of preeclampsia and for now, go back to baking the baby and not worrying so much. But today we celebrate 21 weeks! Over the half way mark!

Here’s a little head shot from the appointment.


Baby G was very busy dancing and talking and swallowing and kicking me while we were at the doctor. It was very strange to see her moving around and also watch her moving around on the big screen. But good to know she is happy in there. She also had her legs up over her head at one point. Definitely did not get that flexibility from her mama. She was hanging onto her big toe with her hand and blocking her face from the ultrasound camera so that was kind of cute.

When I used to run a lot, I had a mental habit of counting down. I always waited until half way while running to start counting down. Once I was half way done, I mentally ticked off the miles until I was finished. It helped me stay sane and not count the seconds I was moving my body. My running partner/friend/BFF Bethany also did this, I found out the other day. It’s good to be at that place in pregnancy. To be on the downhill slide. While I know it gets more gigantic and less comfortable from here on out, it’s good to be in the second half of this baby-growing marathon. And happy to get a good report card for the little miss.

Bad ideas.

In Kentucky, the Derby is like a holiday. It’s basically Christmas with more bourbon, depending on your family. It’s an amazing day which is basically an entire month of celebrating leading up to the big event. Going to the track is one of my favorite things if the weather is nice. You get a little dressed up. You wear a hat. You drink some drinks. You bet on ponies. What could be better?

So, I am going to the track a couple of times the week of Derby. While I cannot partake in the drinking portion of the events, I am looking forward to some sunshine and friends and family and spending some time at Churchill Downs. It is the best.

Now, finding a dress for these events has been a bit of a challenge. I am in a weird time of pregnancy, where I am definitely showing but not super pregnant-looking yet. And I have a feeling these next few weeks are critical growth times. So in a month, when I need a cute dress,  I am not sure how giant I will be. Buying a dress while predicting your body size is slightly difficult. And frustrating. It’s also a bad idea. Today, at lunch, I tried on a non-maternity dress with a high waist just to see what it looks like. I picked a size I would normally wear. I looked like Free Willy in a seersucker pillowcase. I think I learned an important lesson today. Shop in the maternity section. Do not stray. Do not pretend you can still pull off your old clothing. Stay where you belong.

In other news, everyone I know is on a diet. I, on the other hand, just ate a balanced lunch of a chicken wrap and a dirty gas station chocolate glazed donut. Another bad idea.

Baby liked the donut though. I can feel her approval.