Ideally, I would have something thoughtful and insightful up here. I even started a couple of fabulously interesting and, of course, well-written posts, but OH MAN, you guys, I AM SO TIRED OF BEING PREGNANT.
I know that is a horrible thing to say. I know I have absolutely nothing to complain about. This pregnancy has progressed along the same ridiculously easy line as my first, and the only real complication is that of having to take care of a toddler instead of lounging about eating ice cream all day.
Today I hit 35 weeks. Or maybe 36, I forget. Anyway, I'm at the point of Soon, But Not Quite Soon Enough. At this point with Jack I didn't know what all the fuss was about. Pregnancy was a breeze! I could do it forever!
With THIS kid? I am DONE.
I went to bed last night in tears. "I am so worn out," I mumbled weepily to my husband (who is just as worn out as me. I mean, look who he has to live with.) He listened to me gripe about my trip to the grocery store, which wasn't bad until we got home and I had to carry the groceries inside. We live in a three-story townhouse and the refrigerator resides on the second floor. I had to cart $100 worth of groceries plus my ornery won't-climb-stairs-by-himself toddler up to the second floor, without anything or anyone falling. I managed it, but I had to sit on the couch for a full half hour afterwards, just to catch my breath.
My poor husband indulged me in my wallowing, and to thank him I managed to wake him up a million times during the night. If I wasn't flipping over (and by "flip" I mean "heft my manatee-like self from side to side") or hurrying to sit upright before the heartburn destroyed my insides, I was moaning from the Braxton-Hicks contractions. I hereby propose that we burn all the pregnancy books that say these "practice" contractions are simply uncomfortable and not painful.
I think back to my first pregnancy which I spent at work, in front of a computer, reading blogs all day. (Note to former employer: Not ALL day.) That was easy! Sure, sleeping wasn't always comfortable, but at least I got to wake up when I felt like it, rather than being alerted at 6 am by the Boy Who Is Tired Of Sitting In His Crib, Thank You Very Much. But I think even if I wasn't in charge of a small howling person, this pregnancy would be harder anyway. I'm pretty sure the new baby is already bigger than Jack when he was born, AND she's lodged so far into my rib cage that breathing is a major chore. Since I'm not sticking out too much and everyone likes to tell me I don't look like I'm 35 (or 36!) weeks pregnant (SHUT UP, EVERYONE), I'm guessing my vital organs must be all squeezed up around my lungs, thereby turning me into a wheezing asthmatic.
It's awfully difficult to eat dinner in my favorite eating-dinner position: hunched over the coffee table in front of the television. Getting out of the car? An Olympic event! I've even considered not giving Jack a bath until the new baby gets here, simply because I can no longer lean over the tub.
Some time ago a well-meaning lady asked me if being pregnant with a toddler was making me reconsider how many children I might have. "Oh no," I said cheerfully. (Cheerfully, because I was maybe 25 weeks then?) "It's harder, definitely, but I can't imagine not wanting more kids just because I'm not enjoying the pregnant thing."
Ten weeks later my thoughts on the subject haven't exactly changed, but let's say I plan to put QUITE a bit more space between the second and the third. It's going to take me a good long time before I can say, "Oh, those 'practice contractions'? Bring 'em on!" Because right now? That's crazy talk.
Aaaand all of this is compounded by the fact that the molars are coming in. Have I mentioned that? Perfect timing!