I am mentally ready to have this child.
A friend mentioned in conversation the other day that “IT FEELS LIKE YOU’VE BEEN PREGNANT FOR FOREVER!” While I stared blankly at the individual while silently strangling them in my head, I also reflected on just how long pregnancy is. For some reason, yes, this pregnancy feels much longer than my first. I believe this is solely based on the difference in lifestyles. With our daughter, I was working insane hours, barely got to see my then-civilian husband who worked his own insane hours, but in my down time I ran/napped/watched tv/read a book/peed alone. Now? Not so much. I’m juggling staying home with said daughter, part-time freelancing work, maintaining a household, and Army life – which is a whole new territory that is ever changing whether you like it or not.
:: for example, its taken me about 3 days to write/finish this God forsaken blog post ::
Unfortunately the business of this lifestyle makes me feel like I’m missing out on the pregnancy, which bums me out entirely. The only time I have to focus on the little dude is basically while I’m laying in bed at night. Yes, life is different; but my anxiety is the same. I cannot wait to meet him and put a face to the name. I lay awake wondering if he’ll look like me or be another carbon copy of his dad. I dream of watching his every milestone, and I secretly pray that he’s not a “rough and tumble” boy because I seriously don’t know if I would be able to handle that. I try and visualize him in my belly and if he has enough room [I’m guessing no], or if his cute little knees are up by his perfect eyebrows. I wonder what kind of kid he’ll be or what sport he’ll want to participate in, and I hope he knows full well that if he wants to focus on piano instead, that it would be ok with Mom. I envision him and his dad tossing a football in the backyard, only to take breaks to flip a burger or two in preparation for dinner. See? Lots of daydreaming going on here.
I will admit that the level of anxiety I have directed in meeting him is also riddled with selfish notions. I want my body back. Yes, I said it – and I know any woman that has has ever been pregnant and entered that slower-than-molasses LAST month can relate. I don’t even want my body back for running purposes. I want my lungs back. I want to be able to pick up my daughter without having to ‘prep’ my back for it. I want to be able to do laundry without taking a break. I want to be able to eat a regular sized meal. I want to not pee every 45 minutes. I want to wear something besides yoga pants or ugly-as-sin maternity pants [seriously. they’re hideous].
For all I know I could be meeting this much loved individual by the end of the week, or he might decide to hang out for another six weeks. We’ll see.
Until then, I’ll be anxiously awaiting… and ‘running’, of course