It wasn’t until my sixteen-week visit (which involved surprisingly more testing and checking than I had remembered or anticipated) that my OB finally came out with the truth – the second time sucks. Or to be more specific, with each successive pregnancy comes progressively more discomfort, due both to physical factors and basic “your life is just harder now” factors. More round ligament pain, less time to rest and recuperate. More all over aches and pains, less time to reflect. More stress and more to balance, less patience or wiggle room for dealing with all the side effects of building another body inside of my own.
And of course there’s this – same compromised immune system, less chance of ever taking a proper sick day.
This week I’m sick. Sick and grouchy and overworked, the same cough and cold that usually hits right around now as the semester is at long last on its smooth and windy way, right as the overtime and overdrive of all those back-to-school preparations start sinking in and the first chilly day blows in from the ocean. Only this year I’m a bit sicker than usual and a lot less patient with the process than I’ve been in the past. Because number one, moms don’t get sick days (or vacations, as the case may be), and number two, sick and tired and pregnant working moms really, really need to be able to take sick days.
There’s no space in my calendar for a sick day – not with so many things to set in place before I go out on leave in the spring – so I’m taking sick evenings instead. Which means this is it for this week’s post. Short and not very sweet (unless you happen to consider the griping of a grumpy not-even-halfway-there pregnant lady to be as endearing as an old animated Disney classic).
Here’s to sniffles and low grade fevers and tucking myself into bed before ten, and to the inevitable (if ill-timed) welcome to fall.