In fact, I'm slowly starting to remember all that's ahead of me and I'm starting to worry. A lot.
For some reason I always thought any subsequent pregnancies to my first would be easier. (Not that pregnancy is ever easy, don't get me wrong, it's more than worth it). Generally, when you've "been there, done that" with something it makes it less scary, easier to complete and you usually feel better because you're more informed.
I have very supportive doctors and midwives. Even during my first pregnancy when I gained my roughly 17 pounds they had never restricted me, it was more the weight class I'd put myself in. I figured I was overweight to begin with (albeit not necessarily obese), so my weight gain should be reasonable. This time around, I started out about 10-15lbs lighter than with Pearyn (I guess those early morning workouts had been paying off), so I know I have wiggle room, but it doesn't ease my conscience when I step on that scale.
It's not even a body image thing so much (which is strange, because it usually is), more a health thing I worry about. I don't want to gain so much weight that once I pop this big boy out I don't feel active enough to actually enjoy him and my daughter. I don't want to be so out of shape that I get out of breath walking up a flight of stairs. I'm not silly, I realize I'll need plenty of time for my body to recover, but in the months that follow that I worry so much about not being able to keep up with the ebb and flow of life with a toddler and newborn. I know, you probably think I'm being completely neurotic and self-involved, but I figure I've got to fit it in now because come December I won't have any time to self loathe.
I'm trying to do all the things you're supposed to do to make yourself feel better about getting gigantic. I give myself fun manicures, I spend too much money on shampoo and I try to make myself feel pretty. I try to eat healthy, but even that has it's limits because to be completely honest, it seems like all this baby wants to do is eat a crap load and punch me. I'm serious, the worst thing I'm dealing with lately is nausea, and not your run-of-the-mill morning sickness, but this sweeping kind that overtakes me every two hours because I haven't stuffed my face. I won't even be hungry, but I'll feel like I'm going to throw up, so if I have a light snack or small meal it goes away. Eating has lost so much of it's luster because I feel like I'm eating to not throw up nowadays.
And because of my silly placenta growing too close to my cervix, I'm not allowed to go back to running or spin class. I'm allowed to walk, but I know ultimately it doesn't even put a dent in the garbage disposal I've become.
With Pearyn I craved pancakes and slushies, with this one, I crave the entire contents of my grocery store's shelves, Heaven forbid I ever get pregnant again because I might eat everything in the entire United States.
I'm overjoyed to have what we believe is a healthy baby boy, I'm thrilled that things have progressed so well that I'm starting to actually look pregnant and not just fat, but at the end of the day, I'm really, really afraid of losing myself.
Strike that, I'm actually most afraid of losing my belly button. Which, I'm pretty sure is going to happen as I still have AT LEAST 17 weeks and it's already become super shallow.
I'm going to go mourn my belly button over a grilled (Daiya) cheese and tempeh sandwich.