Let me level with you: I hated being pregnant with C. I was one of those weird people that felt better as the pregnancy progressed with the third trimester being my best. I convinced myself it was because I had time to adjust to my changing body, adapt to the hormones and learn my limitations. And the next time would be even better because I’d be more prepared!
You can’t hear it but I’m laughing maniacally in my head.
I hate it just as much the second time around, with the added bonus of knowing even though it gets “better,” it’s never that great. There’s no glowing, beaming mother-to-be here. I still get ravenously hungry and gorge myself until I’m uncomfortably bloated and gassy (which can be anywhere from 6 to 600 bites on any given day so while it’s my own fault some days, other days my body is just out to spite me). I still forget that I can’t run as fast or as long. I still could fall asleep at the drop of a hat, except in the middle of the night. Growing a baby is exhausting work, and I’m chasing a toddler on top of it all.
And so I’m sorry, second child, but I have neither the energy nor desire to document this pregnancy. I don’t want to hide the discomfort and malaise behind a rosy exterior fit for public consumption.
As a second child, myself, I do fear that this child will some day stumble on my internet persona and realize how slighted they have been without a weekly picture and summary. (I am also aware that if they develop the same neurosis, it is highly probable that it’s root cause could be my own protections of it). So the only thing I can give in the place of weekly documentation is honesty.
Pregnancy is a struggle. While I may complain that my body aches, I can’t sleep, or I ate too much/ not enough, I know I am very lucky to have experienced and so far be experiencing a problem-free pregnancy by all medical standards. I have good days, where I get a lot accomplished, I fit in a restful nap, and I have enough energy to be a fun and active mom (at least until C goes to bed). And even on bad days, I have good moments, like an unexpected kiss from C, a husband who picks me up a treat when he goes grocery shopping, or burp that relieves a whole lot of belly pressure. It’s not always classy, but I have to hold onto those days and those moments.
Because I find as my body shifts shape, the baby becomes more tangible and we check items off our to-do list, I lose myself. Only three months in and I already feel myself slipping away. I find it both terribly depressing but reassuring to remind myself that I will come back. I will find me again. If this time is anything like last time, I am only twelve months away.