The other day I was talking to J about something, I don’t remember what, and he said, in response to something I had said (complaining? I am willing to bet that maybe I was complaining, like maybe about how it’s unfair that I have to wear pants at this point), “Well, you’re eight months pregnant, so…”
And I was like, “Yeah I am!” Eight months pregnant is when you get to say you are “eight months pregnant” all the time, in reference to being tired, or being starving to death or being demanding. “Well, I’m eight months pregnant, so yes, I think I am really going to bed at 7:30.”
To tell you the absolute truth, I don’t feel that bad at all. I have to admit at this point - nearly all the way through my second pregnancy - that I’ve had it very easy both times around. No back pain. Barely any heartburn. Still, though, pregnancy can be weird and uncomfortable even at the best of times. And poor J has had to bear the brunt of my specific objections at the end of some of my longer days. Me saying things like, “my pelvis hurts” and “this baby is hurting me on purpose.”
There are many differences between my pregnancy with Nora and this one. Some of them have to do with the physical manifestation of things, and some have to do more with how I feel about and have reacted to the whole affair. Like how I drink coffee every day this time around, and with Nora I didn’t. In fact, I remember this one time when I got a decaf coffee from Dunkin’ Donuts, and I was all, “Huh, this is making me feel awake. I wonder if they accidentally gave me regular coffee? And what will that mean for the baby?!” I can’t believe that person existed, but she did. And it was me.
This time I’m much more relaxed about what I’m putting into my body, which feels good, and I’m also more relaxed about what I’m doing, which is nice, too. I kept running through my first and some of my second trimester, and I’ve continued to go to my exercise classes with friends, including other pregnant women. I used to think people who said stuff like this were beyond obnoxious, but it feels great to be active while pregnant. It also feels great to watch TV for three hours straight, don’t get me wrong.
As long as I get a good night of sleep, which I have luckily been getting lately, I feel good and pretty energetic, and I think I’m in better shape than I was when I was pregnant with Nora. But hey, I’m also eight months pregnant, as I mentioned above. So there are things. Things like how I wake up thinking about birthday cake in a obsessive manner. The kind with tons of buttercream frosting. And in my mind I’m like, “What in the name of GOD IS WRONG WITH PEOPLE that that’s not a suitable breakfast choice?” I have to talk myself down. A lot of times I don’t want to eat dinner either, which, as you know, isn’t like me. I want to go straight to ice cream, but I know that wouldn’t be a good idea because I’d eat way too much ice cream. So I have to eat dinner first. But these rules! They’re starting to get to me.
Also, as I alluded to in the first paragraph, a lot of the time I don’t want to wear pants. At the end of the day, I just don’t want to. I know you’re thinking, “Ok, she means that she wants to put some drawstring pants on,” and what I’m telling you is what I mean is that I don’t want to wear pants at all.
My motivation to work isn’t ideal, I’m already - right now - thinking about how maybe we can go out for pancakes Saturday morning and sometimes I go from not having to pee in the slightest to a complete emergency situation where if I don’t pee immediately I am going to die in, like, two seconds. Less than that.
Overall, though, I do have the sense to acknowledge that things are fine. That being pregnant when you already have a little kid is definitely more tiring, but I’m also enjoying the no-big-deal aspect of it all.
Mostly, I’m beyond excited for it to be over; not because I don’t like it, but because I want to meet the baby. I felt this way at the end of my pregnancy with Nora, too, but I remember feeling a bit of premature nostalgia too, worrying that I’d miss being pregnant…feeling that little baby kicking inside me. Feeling like I needed more time to get everything done. I remember I used to picture her in there maybe writing a novel or quietly composing a symphony. Content.
That’s where this time is different, too. This baby boy kicks like he means it, up high and down low and at least once a day I am forced to let loose a very heartfelt, “OUCH.” He feels strong and huge and like he, too, is excited to get out here, and when he does I am pretty sure he is going to be immediately curious. And very, very hungry.
