I don’t know how “far along I am.”
The best I’ve been able to do when asked this question is to answer, “I’m due in February.” I also realize people don’t care how far along I am, it’s just what you ask a pregnant lady. That and, “how are you feeling?” They don’t really want to know that the only thing keeping me from collapsing into a two-hour nap on the spot is because I have to pee. Anyway, the point is, I am not obsessively tracking the months, weeks, or days. Which leads me to…
I don’t know what size fruit the baby is.
When I was pregnant with Otto, I compulsively checked every pregnancy website on the internets to tell me what was happening this week (This week your embryo has a heartbeat! This week your embryo is a fetus! This week your fetus can hear you!”). Along with those developments, I would learn that “This week your baby is the size of an avocado!” or “This week your baby is the size of a grapefruit!” Now I don’t so much care what size the fruit is, just that it doesn’t press on my bladder so hard when I’m trying to sleep.
I am more tired, achy, tired, and my back hurts more. Plus, I am so much more tired!
So, I just found out I have anemia, which surely accounts for some of my exhaustion. But this time around I am also waking up with, chasing, lifting, and carrying a very hefty toddler. Also, I am two years closer to 40 than I was the last pregnancy. People, I am very tired.
I drink coffee. With caffeine.
Ok, it’s not as much as I want—but especially now that I’m in the 3rd trimester, I get my half decaf from Starbucks where I know the caffeine content is unlawfully high. Did I mention how tired I am? I’m hopeful (or at least pretending) that this falls into my daily-recommended… er, I mean approved… allowance of “one cup of coffee a day,” but it’s practically one cup more than I drank the first time around.
The other day when I dropped Otto off at daycare, the women there remarked at how good I looked. “Yes,” I said, “I’m drinking coffee!”
I drink wine.
Oh, calm down. Its only one glass every now and then, and only recently. I had a glass or two during my second trimester, but unfortunately it just gave me reflux, not relaxation. During pregnancy #1, I drank ½ glass of champagne to celebrate Obama’s election, and one glass of wine for New Year’s. This time around, Thursday seems special enough to imbibe. Plus, do enough Google searches and you’ll see just how ok this practice is.
I don’t know how much I weigh.
Why would I want to know that?
I eat tuna.
Or, I should say, I have eaten tuna. I’ve only had it a few times during the pregnancy, but I mention this because at a recent wedding, a friend turned down the tuna carpaccio (“No thanks, I’m pregnant”) while I actually reached over her and swooped it off the platter. I would probably eat a poached egg too, if someone would (hint) make it for me. Hell, a few months ago I made a batch of chocolate chip cookies just so I could eat the dough… raw eggs and all. These are things I was afraid of the first time around.
I feel better than I ever have, in my entire life, even though my back (really, really) hurts, and I’m (really, really) tired.
I don’t know… the first pregnancy was pretty awesome. Well, it wasn’t so much being pregnant as it was having a baby on the way. Getting there was, at times, excruciating. It took a lot of money, time, and emotional toll to get our family started, and knowing we were finally going to be parents was a gigantic relief.
But this time, it feels even better. Jill and I are already parents, now we’re making siblings! We are evening out the playing field. We are filling up the car. Doubling the occupants of a bedroom. We are in a place I wasn’t sure was possible.
I feel like we are going from two moms and a son to a family of four. And that feels (really, really) good.
Plus, it doesn’t hurt that this time I’m wearing way cuter maternity clothes.