July 15, 2011


When I was newly pregnant, nauseated 24/7 and basking in a nice concoction of “ohmygodImpregnantagain” and excitement, I had a conversation with a friend about the trimesters of pregnancy. The first one is just miserable if you’re anything like me. I spent the entire first trimester eating almost nothing but pickled eggs, and turning green at the slightest hint of a coffee smell.  The second trimester, my friend called, “bliss.”  The 4-6 month mark is where you’re still small enough that your belly isn’t a hindrance and the nauseated business is coming to an end. You feel like you’re getting somewhere and the shock of it all has somewhat worn off and has instead been replaced with hopeful anticipation. . .

I reached 28 weeks today and if the 2nd trimester is “bliss,” then the third can only be described as none other than “antithebliss.”

Sure, you’re excited that the countdown is on. Yes, those sassy Braxton-Hicks contractions are a reminder that the end is indeed near. But right about now is when I swear I could rip someone’s eyeballs out or worse. Don’t even try me.

My back has started to ache, pretty much 24/7 (sort of like the nausea of the first trimester, constant and annoying). This time around, my hips are absolutely killing me. It’s like I can actually feel them separating and getting ready for the big event. And if that isn’t bad enough, any phantom pains left over from the knee surgery of last summer, are amplified and making all my joints feel post-surgical. The baby is also waking me up almost every night with either crazy kicks, stomach-altering stretches that make me feel like he is literally pushing himself off of my bed or hiccups that are frequent and strong. And if you think I’m cranky, meet my husband.

Today I got up early and picked Big I up from swim practice, then rushed home for a quick shower before a friend stopped by to make a Miche Bag purchase. As soon as she left, I piled the girls into the car and was off on a 45 minute drive to meet up with my Miche distributor for lunch. On the way home, I realized I’d be driving past the appliance place where we bought our refrigerator. Our air filter has been on red for weeks now; as in “CHANGE ME NOW PEOPLE!” so I marveled at the fact that I had actually remembered something for a change and ran in to pick one up. I told them the model number and my name; they handed me the filter and I was off. I then found a discontinued crib at an awesome price and bought it, added a few items to my “sprinkle” registry, and then drove the new crib, in pieces, home. I then unloaded it from the van, piece by piece and carried it up to the baby’s soon-to-be-room, right now the most disastrous area in the house. Then I threw dinner in the oven, while doing laundry, watering the plants outside, and reminding myself that I really needed to sit down at some point. I got my break for all of 15 minutes while I inhaled my dinner before cleaning it all up. A few minutes later, I was sitting out on the patio, watching the girls play when Mr. BBM arrived home. He appeared at the sliding glass door holding the air filter and then proceeded to berate me for getting “the wrong one.” And why did I buy it anyway when he can just get it online?

Perhaps because the light has been red for like EVER and I thought I was doing us both a favor.If it can be purchased online so easily, then why didn’t he just do it? Chalk it up to a long day at work; but it wasn’t just tonight.

Last night, I got a much-needed back rub, most of the time with one hand while he scrolled through his Android with the other.

Yes, it’s different being pregnant the third time around, in many ways. And yes, I’ve been there, done that before, but that doesn’t make it any easier to get through it. In fact, when you’re going through it, many years older, with a 10-year old and a 5-year old already in the house, it makes it a whole lot harder.

I did get a taste of “bliss” this past Saturday, when my midwife called and said that I had passed my second 1-hour glucose challenge with flying colors. I seem to have avoided gestational diabetes this pregnancy, which means I can have this baby at the birth center, avoid all those bothersome fetal non-stress tests and sticking myself all the time, and along with all of that, stop worrying about it. Tomorrow I’m scheduled for my Rho-Gam shot and that is the very last time anyone should be sticking me for the duration of the pregnancy. There’s something to be happy about for sure.

Don’t get me wrong. Overall I am happy and excited that in about 12 weeks or less, I’m going to meet this little man. It’s just hard to be a happy pregnant girl all the time when you’re spending so much of your life doing crazy plie squats with cranky hips to pick up random little girl flip-flops so as to avoid squishing your baby, when the baby’s room hasn’t even been started and you just don’t know when you’re even going to get to it, and when your husband seems to be nearly as hormonal and unreasonable as you happen to be.

I’m warning you all; steer clear of me unless you’re offering up a complimentary back rub, volunteering to paint the baby’s room, or have an air filter for my refrigerator that actually works. Otherwise, I can’t guarantee I won’t bite.


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