I feel like there have been two stages to this pregnancy. Stage one – about 4.5 months, during which I barely felt pregnant besides some fatigue and pretty much went about life as usual. Then stage two, which began about two weeks ago, in which I’m suddenly showing, large, uncomfortable. I’m hungry, gaining weight, have less stamina and aches and pains have begun, along with a persistent thumping from within my belly. My clothes don’t fit and it’s time to make the move into maternity clothes. I can’t bend over like I used to and I’m starting to freak out at the thought of how to get this thing out of me.
I know it’s a process I have to just wait out and endure, but thinking of four more months like this is a pretty dreary prospect. I wish I was one of those women who love being pregnant – who feel beautiful and round and shiny and fulfilled, who wax poetic about what a joy it is to be pregnant.
I think it’s great to be a mom. I love it, despite the work and despite the stresses. It makes me a better person and I derive a lot of fulfillment from it. But I am not a fan of pregnancy. I’d gladly skip it if I could.