I'm 22 weeks pregnant as of this weekend and feeling great. I have been blessed with good health (so far) and am in that comfort zone in the second trimester of pregnancy where you look adorably pregnant, but don't yet feel massively uncomfortable. I've gained about 10 pounds, have a nice little bump going, haven't started to swell, and am just generally enjoying myself.
And although my gag reflex is still on overdrive and my patience runs thin with my toddler more often than I'd like to admit, things are good. Very good.
So, dare I say it? I love being pregnant.
Please don't stop reading yet.
Yes, I recognize how fortunate that makes me. And, yes, I know you're dying to say, "Just wait 'til 40 weeks, my friend!" But still. Even knowing what's ahead, I can't help but stop, look down at my belly several times a day, and be overwhelmed with awesomeness.
I'm growing a person, for pete's sake.
I've been wandering around for several weeks now, randomly stealing glances down at my slowly expanding midsection, and breaking into smiles. Tonight, I finally got to share the best part of pregnancy with my husband for the first time when he put his hand to my belly during a baby dance party and felt Boo moving around in there.
The look on his face was priceless. As was the next thing out of his mouth.
"Holy $*%!, there's really another baby in there! Up 'til now, I thought you might be making the whole thing up so you could gain some weight and get out of chores."
He's lucky I have a sense of humor.
I know I'll have a lot coming at me in the next four months - the swelling, the aches and pains, the sleepless nights, the ever more frequent bathroom breaks, the desire to rip this baby from my womb if it doesn't come out right now -- I know, I've been there. But I still try to focus on the positive whenever possible because for some reason, our culture-at-large loves nothing more than to horrify pregnant women.
We like to remind them of how miserable they're sure to become in the weeks ahead. We like to tell them horror stories of our labors and births, or those of women in our family, or people we sort of know who had dire emergencies but thank god, everyone turned out all right in the end. We like to crack "jokes" about how they can look forward to not sleeping for the next 20 years and if that doesn't give them the deer-in-the-headlights look, we move forward into tales of the Terrible Twos, and if that doesn't work, end our attack with warnings of teenage-dom. Oh, teenagers! Just you wait.
But I don't play those games. I'm not miserable; I don't need company. Yes, some days I'm not thrilled with my current state and other days I am so exhausted I can hardly think straight, but when I back up and look at the Big Picture… life is good, pregnancy is a blessing, and I'm grateful to be exactly where I am. Even when I'm not.