Thursday, December 18, 2014

Three's A Crowd. Four's What? A Bobsled Team?

So...I have some news. W and I are expanding our family. Yup, I'm knocked up! I can't speak for everybody, but for me, the first trimester is a magical time in my pregnancy where nothing I do has any positive impact on how completely crappy I feel. And since this time around I don't have the awe and wonder of this being my first time experiencing the joy of creation to distract me, nor am I close enough to the end for the oxytocin buzz to kick in, I thought I'd brighten my outlook by making a list of reasons to look on the sunny side of this oh-so-shitty season. If you're currently gestating or haven't yet forgiven your last child for the terror that was your first trimester, this list might be for you, too.

I'm a puss, but less of a puss than I was the first time around. Sort of.
With my first, no one had ever been as anxious, as regimented, as exhausted, and as nauseated as I was. Everything I craved was on the forbidden list. I couldn't control my mood swings, and couldn't sleep enough to feel rested. Every twinge or bulge sent me in a panic to the doctor's phone exchange or to my dog-earred copy of What to Expect When You're Expecting. I was a complete basket case. And guess what? That was all totally ok. Normal, even. This time around, I'm still a basket case, but now I know I can (and will) survive it. Also, instead of fighting it, I take comfort in the knowledge that it's all completely out of my control--the feelings, the cravings, all of it. It's the same for everybody. It'll likely only last a few months, and really it could be worse. I could be having my period.

I know better what's happening to me. 
Part of the anxiety I felt the first time around was because I had no grid for all the physical and emotional changes I was going through, and had always taken new or unusual to mean pathological. Now, I've survived one traumatic birth experience. I'm the mother of a threenager, and I haven't killed him, yet (premeditated or otherwise). And according to the bitches nurses at my OB's office, I'm AMA (of Advanced Maternal Age), so I'm seasoned. I'm a tough old broad, deep in the trenches, with the stripes to prove it. *shrug* Basically, I've accepted the unspecified aches and pains and functional brain death of motherhood for the last 4 years, already. What's a few more symptoms to add to the list?

Daddy has become The Enforcer.
Finally. I've been Bad Cop with The Buddy since he got mobile. Remember Fun Bobby from Friends? That's been W. He's the life of the party who plays ball in the house and lets him have chocolate before dinner. Now, I've been too tired and sick to lay down the law, so W has figured out that if our household isn't to descend into total anarchy, he has to hold down the rules. In The Buddy's eyes, this makes me the favorite. It's a cheap victory, but I'll take it. #rolereversal

The Incredible Increasing Rack.
When I was skinny and stupid, I valued a flat stomach over big jugs. I've since learned that they are basically interchangeable in their effectiveness. And since I'm not a Kardasian, or otherwise genetically predisposed to having them at the same time...pregnancy is my chosen path to top heavy and to the benefits thereof. #dontknocktheknockers

Snack Time.
God love it. Nutritionists have long counseled the health benefits of small, frequent meals, but I'd always done just fine with breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Now, the worm has turned. If I don't want to be reduced to a jittery, dizzy, fish oil burpy, hangry mess by 10 am, I must eat breakfast, second breakfast, elevensies, lunch, afternoon snack, dinner, an after dinner apertif, and a "little something" before bed. It's a Hobbits life, but somebody's gotta live it. #survival

Oh, man...I am so tired...When I was pregnant with The Bud, the worst it ever got was the day I took a 20 minute nap on the ladies' room floor at work. I was mortified and fretted every time I had to give in to my desperate need for sleep. Now, I see my enforced siestas as radical self-care. And when the alternative is loading the dishwasher or sitting through another episode of Dinosaur Train, a nap you can't fight off can become a blessing in disguise.

I get a lot of good toddler material for the 'ole blog.
When we told The Bud we were expecting a new baby, we asked which kind he wanted, brother or sister? His answer: neither. He wants a bunny. More recently, he accidentally pushed too hard on the belly, and I warned him to be careful, the baby was in there. He put his hand on my shoulder, looked earnestly into my eyes and said, "I sorry, Mama. I don't want it." The baby. He doesn't want the baby. #honesty

Gilmore Girls is streaming on Netflix. 
If I ever needed an excuse for descending into a blubbering mess of tears for no reason, it's now. Binge-watching the lives and times of Rory and Lorrelai has fit the bill quite nicely.

In spite of my complaining, I'm thrilled and hopeful that I will see the light at the end of the tunnel soon. I've already begun to notice some relief from the perpetual nausea ("morning" sickness can suck it), and certain scents are losing their gross-out factor, so things are looking up. Oh, and in another 28 weeks or so, I'll get to cuddle up with a tiny grunter with his/her brother's eyes.

Totally worth it.

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