(This is an excerpt from a running Word document that I keep, to act as journaling on future scrapbook pages. Forgive the overly touchy-feely-ness. Just thought you might like to know what's up with me.)
Before it happened to me, I vowed that I would never be one of those women who complained about every moment of being pregnant. I would enjoy it, I told myself, because it’s amazing, and fleeting.
For the first trimester of my pregnancy, I *laughed* at the stupidity of that thought. I tried to remind myself that what I was experiencing was something that I would cherish for the rest of my life. Well, for three solid months, it was pretty unforgettable. It was also pretty miserable.
I languished on the couch night and day. I was hot. I was sick. I was weak. I was tired to my very bones. After weeks and weeks of feeling sick 24-hours a day, I started to be pretty cranky, too. God Bless my husband; he was a saint for the Summer of 2009.
The “morning” sickness passed, eventually. Slowly, I started to feel better physically. Then, we moved.
Nightmare. On so many fronts.
But now we’re mostly re-settled. I’m not sick and I’m not hauling boxes. I finally, FINALLY have the time to enjoy my little guys. They kick and squirm ALL the time. While I’m watching tv, while I’m sitting at my desk at work, while I’m talking to parents at the school, even while I’m driving (If you think cell phones are distracting while driving, try having two people battling for prime position on your bladder/ internal bouncy house).
My feet are swelling pretty noticeably, so I try to keep them up as much as possible. Lately, Baby B (who is currently in vertex or head-down position) has really enjoyed the recliner as much as I have. Every time I lean back, he seems to curl up like a small canon ball and lay directly on my lowest rib. I’ve been watching TV every night with my hand pressed down on his little butt to keep him off my lungs. Talk about real estate scarcity.
Baby A is in there breech (or butt down), according to the perinatal services sonogram folks, so I barely feel his little kicks in my lower abdomen, right around where the top of my pants used to be (ah, maternity jeans). When I’m lying on my back, though, I can feel the curve of his little head, about a hands breath lower than my ribs. I’m not sure why this amazes me so much more than just feeling a hand or a foot, but it does. When I feel it sitting there, or watch him turn his face from one side to another, I am astounded. Every. Single. Time.
Witnessing all this every day has made me so very glad that I made that naïve resolve all that time ago. To enjoy every minute of this. Because I am.
I’ll never be able to keep my sons as safe as I can right now. I’ll never be able to hold them this much again. I’ll never feel them poking and wiggling in there, reminding me that I’m not quite as alone as I had thought. This is a Blessing.
Thank God.
