This week I have no theme. I’m thirteen weeks pregnant. Through the crummy, uncomfortable first trimester. A little more energy. A lot less nausea. Just a touch of special treatment for the now obvious baby bump. It’s all downhill from here.
All downhill. Yep. Just a really, really, long and maybe a little bumpy hill.
Did I mention long? A long hill?
I’m through the first trimester, and somehow, someway I seem to have gotten it into my head that the first trimester was the only trimester. That if I could just get through those first lonely weeks full of secrets and discomfort, then I would have done my duty. All the hard work would be over.
Not that I actually expected to have a baby at the end of the first trimester (I may be irrational, yes, but haven’t quite crossed over into the realm of delusion). I just feel like I’ve been pregnant for a very, very long time already, and after so much silent anticipation, the mere appearance of a potbelly seems like a miracle in and of itself. I found out about my pregnancy very early – as in, so early I wasn’t even technically supposed to even know yet kind of early (those early pregnancy tests really do live up to their advertising). Then I spent nearly my entire summer secretly pregnant. Now I’m so used to hiding it, to pretending that everything is normal, that right as word has really gotten out, I’m kind of convinced myself that everything is normal. Nothing out of the ordinary here. Just another nauseous, swollen, decaffeinated and nicotine withdrawn woman.
But then there is that potbelly. Last week my clothes still fit, for the most part. This week I was late to work every day because I couldn’t find anything to wear. I was warned that I would show early the second time. I fished out my maternity clothes weeks ago in anticipation, but now that the time has come when I actually need them, when wearing them isn’t going to out me at work, well now I just refuse to even try them on. I’m making no sense. I’m making myself crazy.
I feel like I’ve been pregnant forever, but I’m only one third of the way through this journey. And this journey is barely even a preamble to the real voyage that sits at its end – another child. Another life in this house, in this family, in this stew of crazy and chaos and love. I’m going to have another child, and this is more than a little unnerving.
I’m happy for this pregnancy. I wanted this pregnancy. But I was not ready for this pregnancy. But now that I’m past this milestone of weeks, now that the whole world knows, now that my body has placed baby on full blown display, I can no longer deny that this is happening. One hundred percent for real happening. And while I’m thrilled about how my family is going to grow and evolve, while I’m thrilled to give my daughter the experience of siblings, I’m still not quite sure how I’m going to manage it all. Hence the conflict. Hence the excitement and the denial all in the same breath.
It’s a long road behind, but an even longer road ahead – a road that will last the rest of my life. At least now I can say I’m on the scenic route.