(Photo Credit: my son David)
We made it through my favorite, easy-breezy 2nd trimester. It’s onto the last stretch of this pregnancy. Anemic? Check. Charlie horses in my feet and legs? Check. Wondering if it’s even possible for me to get bigger? Check.
I think I remember not being able to breathe because my lungs are smushed, and using the bathroom every 5 minutes because the baby thinks it’s hilarious to kick my bladder is next on the list.
The reality that this baby is coming is sinking into my psyche now.
I really need to get onto my baby knitting. So far this baby has nothing mama-made. I never really made anything for my first 2 babies, but they had baby books too. I didn’t even buy Solveig or Ingrid a baby book, because it seemed like I was paying for failure to do so. I don’t even scrapbook. But I can make them something.
I can already tell that my diet is slowly morphing into this rigid life of:
“I need to eat this to get my iron up.”
“I can’t eat that because it gives me heartburn.”
“I should eat this because it will keep me full for a few minutes.”
“This food has too much calcium, and I just took my iron, so I should wait a few hours to eat this.”
“I need to drink this next cup of water in the next hour to stay on track or I can tell my ‘uterine irritability’ will start to kick in.”
The joy of eating and drinking gets sucked out of the last trimester, as I start thinking of myself like a car who needs a specific composition of fuel to keep going. I’m taking more pills for my iron levels, and getting more tests done as the birth is just around the corner.
I’m starting to be uncomfortable, no matter how I am sitting…or laying…or standing.
It’s that time when I dream up the meal I’m going to have after birth. Last time I went to the butcher shop and picked out a gorgeous Greek-stuffed flank roll, and tucked it in the freezer for Knut to cook after Ingrid was born. I wonder what I should plan for my decadent meal this time for Knut to cook up. Oh, I haven’t had a summer baby in awhile. I should pick something he can grill for me. I can’t wait for coffee again. This baby has not appreciated coffee at all. He better not mind me drinking it when I’m feeding him. One of my kids did that for me and that became a long, exhausting year.
Third Trimester: Here we go. Let’s do this thing.