Figuratively and literally. We recently compared belly pictures from this round to the belly pictures in my maiden voyage and found that 1. I am smaller this time around (who knew?!) and 2. I am carrying this baby lower. Up until now, I've been telling everyone the opposite of those two statements. I guess I don't remember as much as I thought I did. But I find these facts curious when I am sitting on the couch, catching my breath as if I just ran 5 miles as fast as I could. I'd swear that this kid is all up in my ribcage, squishing out my lungs and making it hard to catch a breath.
Also, I am swelling. It took 29 weeks, but the rings are finally gone.
December 30th - July 18th - RIP
Back to breath catching. I am closing in on 30 weeks. Can you hear Europe's "The Final Countdown" in the distance? I can. Which in and of itself, is pretty awesome. But in all of the situation's awesomeness, I am finding myself secretly freaking out over being the mama of 2 small children. Every time Ben hits a new milestone, I am so thankful that we put the previous baby stage behind us. For example, communicating. He recently started signing words to us instead of screaming his head off when he wants something. Fabulous, right? Absolutely. But guess what? We're about to do it all over again. You know, that kind of thing. I am also finding that the nesting hormones are creeping up and I feel oddly (and completely unjustifiably) unprepared to bring an infant home. We have a nursery, clothes, blankets, a bassinet, etc all stocked up and ready to go. But I am finding myself freaking over the little things that we don't have yet, but can be easily picked up in one shopping trip. I need swaddlers! I need packs and packs of diapers! What if it gets cold early and I don't have enough long sleeved onesies in his size? OMG! This is not helping the lack of space my lungs have to inflate with oxygen. I've also found myself flipping out over the next 9 weeks and my ability to clean the house. I am too proud to hire a maid. And let's face it, it's not exactly in the budget. But before I was a hippopotamus, cleaning baseboards wasn't a big deal. And beyond that, do you really need to clean baseboards that frequently? That fact suddenly doesn't matter as much as the fact that I am now physically unable to do this with ease. And I can be brought to tears over the subject. I can no longer be reasoned with.
I am an emotional disaster. A swollen, hyperventilating tear-soaked mess with a belly full of child. A child that has been lying transversely all weekend, kick-punching me in either side of my abdomen like an MMA fighter. Savoring the moments, and trying to document all that I can so that I have access to a friendly reminder this time next year when I am begging Jacob for #3. But seriously, even in the midst of this disaster, I am totally thankful for the experience, and excited to meet my newest little one. And on the day he's born, this stuff might even be laughable. So deep breaths and keeping things in perspective for 9 more weeks. Time flies when you're having a blast.