The third trimester. The fourth baby. At almost forty. Yes. I shall confess that. ALMOST FORTY.
SIDE NOTE: What??? How is this possible??? I swear I'm still 23. Except for when I hang out with 23 year olds. Then I'm like, nope. I'm totally almost forty. HA HA HA.
Dude, its like my body wakes up every morning whining...
"I DON'T WANNA DO IT ANYMORE!!"
I have dreams regularly about stretching my belly up to my arms, trying to hold little guy, still encased in my rubbery belly.
I WANT HIM OUT. Okay. But not yet. Yes, yes, I know. Ten weeks. Baby needs it. I can do it.
But I don't have to like it.
One leg is in constant pain. Every step. I have really flexible joints to begin with and the relaxin chemical of late pregnancy just means EVERYTHING IS FALLING APART. And yet, my hips are so so tight. Dada questioned this as he rubbed my hips one night after me begging and I'm all, "I DONT KNOW, JUST MAKE IT FEEL BETTER."
When you think about rolling over at night and you're like, nope, can't do it. Bedsores it is! Or bending over to pick stickers off the kitchen floor and you find yourself looking around, "what else can I do while I'm down here??"
Every move, economized.
Yes, I've made an effort this pregnancy. I swim every day with the kids and do water exercises. This has totally helped. I look slightly toned and fit, so I'm told. I've also been doing regular inversions, pelvic tilts and other exercises from this site in an effort to position baby in a better way and avoid the long painful birth of my last pregnancy.
And yet, LOOKS CAN BE DECEIVING. HA. Someone commented on a recent facebook picture, "you look so energetic.!" Made me cackle. Yea, it was 9am when that picture was taken. Talk to me at 2 in the afternoon. By 9pm I'm moaning on the couch. CANT MOVE. DONT. TOUCH. ME.
(NOTE: have you heard of belly binding?? Apparently its a thing quite normal in other cultures to support the belly. I totally have been doing this around the house. Much more comfortable than the back/belly brace things you can buy at the store. I have found a large strip of fabric works well - I use a sarong from Thailand. Here are some links about it.)
Okay. So far, I have had nothing to say except whining in this post. I think its the current cold I just came down with that has set me over the edge. Pretty sure I am feverish. Every sneeze and I have to concentrate on not, er, losing control.
FUN TIMES, right mamas???
The things we do.
It's like a job, isn't it, to do it "right." I have to watch my sugar intake, not because of gestational diabetes but because of the dreaded GBS. BLARGH. I'm following this protocol, more or less, taking probiotics in mega doses, drinking kombucha, eating as much garlic as I can stomach, vitamin C and D in high doses, I have a list. A LIST. A LONG ONE. Plus there is the whole "good fats!" (yay for our avocado tree, and yet, one can actually get tired of avocados) and "protein!" (seriously, how much meat can you actually eat in a day??) and "daily leafy greens!" (WAH!) of this diet that I try to follow in pregnancy. And really, we're all just like, GIVE ME THE CHEETOS NOW.
The things we do.
I try to reward myself. Carry the laundry down to the laundry room and you can sit for 20 minutes and read in front of the fan with sparkling water! Heaven, am I right?
Meanwhile, the other day I was lounging on the couch, laying sideways, because laying on my back feels like I am being slowly suffocated, and I reached across my belly to turn the page of my book and little punk actually kicked me SO HARD that I yelped in fright. Okay, then. Sorry about that, picky little guy. I roll over at night, finally willing myself to do it, and its 20 minutes of kicks until I roll back to the other side. Already bossing me around from inside. Perfect.
Its not magical anymore folks.
I am ready. Except not. Labor. Ugh. I don't want to do that again. I mean I will. And I've got a good feeling about this time around. But still. Thankfully its not imminent...yet...when those weeks approach its like waiting for a surprise marathon run. Any minute you'll be asked to run for hours and hours. But, you DONT KNOW WHEN.
Also, punk comments aside. I really want to meet this guy. See who he is. When you are pregnant with your first its all so unknown. After a few babies, having kids who are older with funny charming quirky personalities you find yourself wanting to know...who is this guy? How will he fit in our family? Who will he be?
And we all know how patient I am.
So, what do we do? In the meanwhile?
Well, I got several books to read from the library. When I wake up in the middle night, (sigh, get up to pee, FINE.) and can't get back to sleep, at least I have something to do other than look at facebook where all I seem to see are pictures of friends who have had their babies recently. NO FAIR. ha.
I am trying to be nice to myself too.
The house is not going to be the cleanest every day, all day. It will not be a Pinterest-perfect Christmas. The kids can do more if I accept it not being as good as how I would do it. Little man is now being tasked with weekly cleaning of the bathrooms. Its all about the foaming bubble cleaner for him, HA. Its okay to not be perfect lady, slurp down that nutrient packed smoothie and you can have some cheesy nachos as a reward!
Its the little things, my friends, the little things.
So today as I sneeze and sniffle and await our "date night" I'm letting the kids absolutely trash the living room. Earlier we decorated cookies and I actually let them do it. Most of them. Our poor neighbors HA. In a little bit I'm going to put in a load of laundry (has to be be done) then make them mac and cheese and then I'll read, then take a ten minute nap while they zone out on the Ipad (Ah, Christmas break!). Then we'll swim and afterwards I'll bark orders for them to pick up as I sit, queen-like, on the couch with the occasional attempt at bending over to pick the broken candy cane bits out of the living room carpet. And I'm not going to feel guilty. I've gotta save my energy for waddling around Target, limping in pain, to buy them Christmas presents this evening.
I CAN DO IT. I CAN DO IT. ha.
Ten weeks and counting.
We women in the third trimester are heroes I tell you. FREAKING HEROES.