I remember my pregnancy with Aili as a happy, easy time. We were so excited, and everything was novel and new. I felt peppy and energetic, and any inconveniences related to being pregnant seemed minor and manageable. Every week I would look up details about how big she was in there, how she was developing in there, and what household object I could compare her to.
This time, however, the novelty isn’t there. I have to stop and think to remember how far along I am, and it seems like the weeks creep by. My energy level is lower, and I find myself struggling with sleep at night, so I have to nap every afternoon. I’m bothered by many commonly-experienced pregnancy related inconveniences simultaneously: heartburn, headaches, backache, round ligament pain, congestion, and insomnia come to mind, although I’m sure I could come up with more if I really thought about it. Oh, there, see? You can add mommy-brain absentmindedness to the list.
This baby is also far more active than Aili was, which is simultaneously endearing and uncomfortable. I’ve got a few more weeks before he gets too big to really wind up and give strong kicks, so in the meantime we lie awake at night together and I watch the minutes on my alarm clock tick by and listen to the snoring competition between my husband and my dog as the kid kicks along in time.
I’m bigger this time, as everyone I know has commented, which makes it even more challenging to reach the ground. Not to mention that the whole situation is compounded by chasing around a toddler whose primary expertise is strewing small objects all over the floor before moving on to ‘dis’-organizing the next room.
And as for the nursery, you ask? Well, I have all sorts of good intentions. The window has been replaced, the bed has been sold, and the built-in unit is gone. Now it’s filled with random boxes of stuff; some for the baby, some of which have to find a new home (either here or someone else’s home). A rug has been purchased, paint swatches litter the floor (disorganized by Little Ms. Guess Who, of course), and I have every confidence that someday one of those craigslist ‘Crib For Sale’ postings will jump out at me.
All this whining is no fun, I know. So I’ll stop now. But my last comment will be this: I’m quite confident that I don’t want to do this again! Two is a great number. A son and a daughter. I’ll be glad to be done with pregnancy, and you’ll be glad to know that I’m done with all the sorry complaining.
And with that, off to bed.