I'm getting to the point in this pregnancy where things are getting...difficult.
I have easy pregnancies and even easier deliveries so please don't read this as complaining. When I go in for my prenatal appointments I must be the most boring patient ever. How are you feeling? Good. Any concerns? Nope. Any questions? Not that I can think of.
I'm so thankful for this body of mine that performs perfectly again and again. But that said, being pregnant is still not the same as not being pregnant.
I used to love being pregnant. I didn't really mind the bump because I always seemed to find some cute maternity clothes that accentuated my pregnancy and made me feel good. Don't you think that's the trick to good maternity clothes? Not trying to hide it under baggy clothes but instead finding something that displays your growing baby in a flattering fit. It works for me anyway.
But now the bump, well, it just gets in the way.
When I was pregnant with William I sat at a desk all day working and came home to a quiet house with just Brian and me. I had all the time in the world to allow my body the rest it needed.
When I was pregnant with Lucy it became a little more difficult but still very manageable. I had a two-year-old that needed me. But he napped a solid three hours every afternoon. And if things ever got really bad there was always the TV to turn on.
It was my pregnancy with Katherine where things started to get challenging and I didn't love being pregnant like I remembered with the other two. My body was begging me to slow down but my life wouldn't concede. It was a hot summer and a really hot fall. I even remember having the a/c on into October which is unheard of in Minnesota. I had a preschooler and a toddler who wanted to go, go, go.
After Katherine was born I hit the ground running. A lot of my friends and family were aghast at the things I was doing just days after giving birth. But I didn't think anything of it. I was so happy to have (most of!) my body back. To be able to run here and there and pick things up without huffing and puffing and getting a head rush felt amazing. Any postpartum recovery I had going on paled in comparison to the ick I felt being a huge waddling duck.
I have easy pregnancies and even easier deliveries so please don't read this as complaining. When I go in for my prenatal appointments I must be the most boring patient ever. How are you feeling? Good. Any concerns? Nope. Any questions? Not that I can think of.
I'm so thankful for this body of mine that performs perfectly again and again. But that said, being pregnant is still not the same as not being pregnant.
I used to love being pregnant. I didn't really mind the bump because I always seemed to find some cute maternity clothes that accentuated my pregnancy and made me feel good. Don't you think that's the trick to good maternity clothes? Not trying to hide it under baggy clothes but instead finding something that displays your growing baby in a flattering fit. It works for me anyway.
But now the bump, well, it just gets in the way.
When I was pregnant with William I sat at a desk all day working and came home to a quiet house with just Brian and me. I had all the time in the world to allow my body the rest it needed.
When I was pregnant with Lucy it became a little more difficult but still very manageable. I had a two-year-old that needed me. But he napped a solid three hours every afternoon. And if things ever got really bad there was always the TV to turn on.
It was my pregnancy with Katherine where things started to get challenging and I didn't love being pregnant like I remembered with the other two. My body was begging me to slow down but my life wouldn't concede. It was a hot summer and a really hot fall. I even remember having the a/c on into October which is unheard of in Minnesota. I had a preschooler and a toddler who wanted to go, go, go.
After Katherine was born I hit the ground running. A lot of my friends and family were aghast at the things I was doing just days after giving birth. But I didn't think anything of it. I was so happy to have (most of!) my body back. To be able to run here and there and pick things up without huffing and puffing and getting a head rush felt amazing. Any postpartum recovery I had going on paled in comparison to the ick I felt being a huge waddling duck.
When I first found out I was pregnant with Number Four I told Brian that I wished someone could deliver the baby to my front doorstep. I was OK with having four kids. But the thought of being pregnant with three small children underfoot, one of whom was still an infant, was completely daunting.
The other day I went to the grocery store with all three kids and when I got home I thought I was going die. I mean, not really, but that's the thing about being pregnant and carrying on with life as usual. The smallest tasks make me feel like I've just attempted to complete a p90x workout.
I miss my agility and endurance and strength. And I wish I could complete a p90x workout. All of them!
But instead my body insists on growing this human. And growing a human is hard work. I have to sit down a lot. And eat regularly. And visit the potty endlessly. I complain about the heat even though I am a summer-lover during any other time of my life. The stairs are my nemesis. And so is anything that drops on the floor. And this 10-month-old who has the nerve not to be able to walk yet. (Just kidding, Katherine! I seriously love you and hate the thought of you growing up anyway.)
I'm hoping the start of a new school year will allow me more downtime. I'll have only two kids to deal with from 8-3 daily and only Katherine for two mornings a week. So maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to crawl toward the finish line with a little more ease.
But deep down I know. Dinner still needs to be made. The floors still need to washed. The laundry still needs to be changed. And this little Katherine still needs to be carried up and down the stairs.
Pregnancy is not for wimps. But knowing that countless strong women have gone before me and still lived to tell about it let's me know that this too shall pass. And it's only a very small paragraph in the great novel of my life.
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