While hubby was playing squash last night (and injuring himself again – oi vey!), I drafted up a post about being 37ish weeks pregnant.
This morning, when I read it over, I decided to delete the whole thing.
Why? Because it read like one big moan. And I suddenly realised that through this entire pregnancy, I have done nothing but complain. I’ve been all, “Woe is me, I’ve been throwing up and I’m sore and uncomfortable and WHY CAN’T HE STOP KICKING ME THERE???”, instead of stopping to take a moment and relish the miracle that is pregnancy and the little person growing inside me.
So, today, instead of my usual rant about the discomforts of pregnancy, I am going to reflect on all the good things about being pregnant.
* Laying on the couch with Tiny, during those first 22 weeks, catching a wink of sleep while he snuggled in and watched some cartoons.
* Feeling those first flutterings of movement and feeling just as excited about it as first time round.
* Eating potato chip sandwiches and chocolate bars because that’s what the baby wanted.
* Sharing maternity clothes with similar-sized friends who have just had babies, and passing clothes on to another who is about ten weeks behind me.
* Watching the numbers on the scales creep up and up – without any sense of horror – after the initial weight loss.
* Washing all the teeny tiny little clothes and folding them lovingly, arranging them into Tiny’s scotch chest (and thus confusing Tall when he tried to find Tiny’s clothes and pulled out onesie after tiny little onesie!).
* The excitement of finding out whether Pickle was pink or blue, and subsequently being able to talk to Tiny about his baby brother.
* Wondering what this baby will be like – will he be a wee baldy like his big brother? Will he have reflux? Will he be a shorty, like mummy, or a tally, like daddy? Will he have the same delicious chocolate-coloured eyes as the other men in my life?
* Feeling that immense sense of love for this little person we haven’t even met yet, knowing that when he arrives, our little family will be complete.
(You’ve got to allow me a couple of little moans, though…)
I miss being able to put on my shoes without grunting like a pig. Actually, I miss being able to dress my entire lower half without uttering an involuntary and oh-so-attractive, “Oofff”.
And I itch. All over. I expected it on the stretched skin on my tummy, but on the palms of my hands? The soles of my feet? In my EARS???! Gah! Last night it was so bad that I had to get out of bed three times for full-body scratching sessions. I was at the doctor this morning and mentioned the itching to her; she took one look at my hands, declared me to be “very dry”, and sent me away with soap substitute and two types of hydrocortisone-based cream. Yey.