life as we know it.
Sleep is no longer happening. That is, it happens, but only in short bursts separated by waking up to go to the bathroom every two hours. Rolling over is difficult, and my back and hips seem to resent remaining in any one position for more than 30 minutes. According to my doctor, this is just the way things will be for the next 7 weeks. 7 weeks.
M is deep in the process of converting our house into something fit for a child, or at least someplace where a child would fit. We now have an empty room in our house. This is a big step.
Work is getting harder and easier at the same time. I'm getting used to things, but there is less that I can actually do. My memory is a thing of the past, and standing for more than 15 minutes seems to be impossible. I feel heavy, inside and out.
The little guy is running out of room inside, which I'm sure is almost as frustrating for him as it is for me. My stomach is streaked with proof of his growth, and my ribs are tender. His growth has limited the size of my internal organs. I can't eat very many things, or very large amounts. This is just the beginning, I suppose.
I love being pregnant, but I hate the attention and unwarranted comments it brings. I feel like this transition should be so very private, but due to the visibility, it's so very public. I'm tired of the comments from strangers, wondering if the baby was due "yesterday," or if I'm sure there is just one inside. I would throw punches, if I could.
7 weeks, although my heart tells me he'll come just a little earlier. I'm thinking Thanksgiving. If it happens, I'm dressing him like a turkey for his hospital portraits.
M is deep in the process of converting our house into something fit for a child, or at least someplace where a child would fit. We now have an empty room in our house. This is a big step.
Work is getting harder and easier at the same time. I'm getting used to things, but there is less that I can actually do. My memory is a thing of the past, and standing for more than 15 minutes seems to be impossible. I feel heavy, inside and out.
The little guy is running out of room inside, which I'm sure is almost as frustrating for him as it is for me. My stomach is streaked with proof of his growth, and my ribs are tender. His growth has limited the size of my internal organs. I can't eat very many things, or very large amounts. This is just the beginning, I suppose.
I love being pregnant, but I hate the attention and unwarranted comments it brings. I feel like this transition should be so very private, but due to the visibility, it's so very public. I'm tired of the comments from strangers, wondering if the baby was due "yesterday," or if I'm sure there is just one inside. I would throw punches, if I could.
7 weeks, although my heart tells me he'll come just a little earlier. I'm thinking Thanksgiving. If it happens, I'm dressing him like a turkey for his hospital portraits.