I’m struggling today. I have been for the past week. It’s raining. My child isn’t sleeping well so none of us are sleeping well. And I still have 11(ish) weeks until the end of this pregnancy. 11 weeks feels like 11 months to me right now.
I’ve given myself the pep talk. I know my body was made for this. I know that I want my baby to stay in my belly until she’s full term. I know the pain and stress of the NICU. I know that millions of women have done this millions of times. I know that I haven’t even reached the hardest part of the third trimester yet. But I can’t pull myself out of this funk.
My last pregnancy was rough. I was sick for the majority of it. I spent my days on the couch watching old episodes of Law & Order SVU and begging my husband to handle dinner. This time, I spend my days literally chasing my child around my apartment to stop her from sticking her hands in the toilet, climbing onto the kitchen island and choking on one of the random objects she insists on putting into her mouth. When I’m not doing that, I’m vacuuming goldfish crumbs off of the floors (only to find another pile as soon as I put the vacuum away) and trying to figure out why the urge to nest hits when your belly is so large, and your body is so uncomfortable, that most household tasks (ex: cleaning the bathtub) feel like a CrossFit session. Thankfully, my sickness subsided much earlier this time so I no longer have to worry about vomiting while parenting, but this is still hard. It’s really hard. And sometimes it feels like a sin to admit that.
I feel so blessed to be pregnant. I’m so honored to be a mom and I love both of my girls more than I could ever explain. I’m cherishing these last few months with Harper before she has to share me with her sister. That’s why I give in every time she wakes up crying and pointing to mommy and daddy’s room. I’m honored to be married to a man who loves his family so much that he gets up before the sun to support us. My goal is to match his work ethic inside our home. That’s why I stay up until I can barely keep my eyes open making sure the house is clean before I go to bed.
I love taking care of my family and none of my pregnancy complaints are directed at them (except maybe the sleep thing: please Harper, sleep through the night again!). But I’m worried that I won’t be able to keep all of this up for the next 11 weeks. I’m afraid my body is just going to give out on me. How in the world is my belly going to expand enough to fit a full-term baby? How in the world am I going to get the house ready for the baby with a toddler tornado running after me destroying everything? How am I going to keep cooking for my husband (not to mention make all of those Pinterest-recommended postpartum freezer meals) when standing up for too long gives me Braxton-Hicks contractions and makes me feel like I just ran a 10k? How am I going to keep rocking my first baby to sleep when my second baby’s position gives me the world’s worst heartburn and the strongest urge to pee as soon as we snuggle up in the rocking chair?
I know I will find a way. I know that my body was made for this. I know that this last trimester is going to fly by. I know that every ache, every pain and every unpleasant pregnancy symptom will be worth it when my beautiful baby girl is in my arms.
But today, I’m going to stay in my pajamas, bribe my child with snacks to get her to sit still on the couch, and allow myself to be tired.