The Third Trimester, honestly

I have a cold, which seems to be required both in the post-holiday let-down and in the third trimester of pregnancy. Because, with an increasingly less-tiny human being crowding out unimportant things like MY LUNGS, it’s important to have additional factors making it nearly impossible to breathe. Or sleep.  I’ve coughed so much that I seem to have pulled a muscle.

I’m getting sciatic pain. It feels like someone is constantly tickling the back my knee, and not in a good way AT ALL, thanks to Restless Leg Syndrome.  I have heartburn. I’m completely winded by a single flight (or even half a flight) of stairs.

I am the fashionista’s worst nightmare of a pregnant woman and a stay-at-home-mom, all wrapped up in a big pair of yoga pants.  Seriously, this is my typical uniform: t-shirt with tank underneath, sweatpants. Sometimes, trade yoga pants for sweatpants. Sometimes add a sweatshirt.  If I need to be moderately presentable, I put on a pair of jeans and a maternity wrap top, but I’m still going to wear my worn-out running shoes (if I can reach them to tie them), because the other shoes I have are getting tight.

And, no, I don’t think I’ve yet managed to shower today. Wanna make something of it?

But you want to know something? It turns out that whole “carrying multiples” thing really WAS a lot harder than average, even in my complication-free pregnancy.  It turns out I actually don’t hate pregnancy nearly as much as I thought I did.

I have heartburn, yes, but nowhere near as constant and awful as last time.  I can still make out my ankles, nothing approaching the terrifying Hobbit-feet I had developed by this time 3.5 years ago.  I can still wear my wedding rings and feel my fingertips, no carpal tunnel. I’m tired, sure, but I’m also taking care of a pair of preschoolers instead of sitting on the couch and ordering takeout every night.

I like the fact that I’m pregnant-not-just-fat enough that strangers dare to ask me when I’m due.  I love feeling the baby moving around in my belly, that special thing that’s just between me and her.  This time has flown by, it’s unbelievable to me that there’s (at most) about two months left until I meet this little girl face-to-face.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t “glow.” This is not my all-time favorite state of being.  I will be ready for pregnancy to be over, ready get my body back to normal-ish.  Ready to figure out a newborn and see how she fits into our family.

But I’m trying to step back from the complaints and enjoy the special-ness of pregnancy while I have it.  If M is to be believed, and I certainly think he is, I won’t be doing any of this again.  And that’s alright.  But I need to slow down and appreciate it while it’s here.

Even if I can’t sleep.

As an aside, do you have any idea how hard it is to get a self-portrait belly shot in a house with minimal natural light and only a single, crappy full-length-ish mirror stored in a closet somewhere?  Not freaking easy! I attempted the self-timer-and-tripod a few weeks ago with crappy results, and can’t find my remote anywhere, and never remember to ask M to take a picture on the weekends.  Ah well.