Bumpdate, 18 Weeks

I’m officially 18 weeks although it feels like 1,800. Since there wasn’t much time between my last pregnancy and this one, I didn’t lose all the new weight I’d put on and the emotional recovery lasted longer than I’d like, I truly feel as if it’s been one, long, bad pregnancy. Don’t get me wrong, I feel so fortunate to be able to get pregnant and, this time, stay pregnant for as long as I have. And every day I pray that I carry a healthy child to term and deliver a safe, breathing, beating heart baby.

Still, that doesn’t mean pregnancy suits me. I’ve come to terms with the fact that it never has and never will (not that I’m EVER doing this again!). I’m just not that woman. And that’s okay. I’m great at other things. And, in the big scheme, nine months is nothing. Although, at this moment, 22 more weeks seems like an eternity. It’s been a fairly rough road filled with lots of testing, medications (including, TMI, two vaginal suppositories of progesterone every night, for three plus months, that made me much sicker than I already was), sickness, sadness, prayers. But I’m hopeful that this time will be our time. That this little boy is meant to be. With each day that passes, each milestone achieved, the future is looking a little brighter.

But it doesn’t help that I’m already huge. I know every pregnant woman probably feels this way but he’s measuring at over a week and a half bigger and his mama even more so. At four and a half months, I look and feel as if I’m six to seven months, no joke. Some may attribute that to every pregnancy being different, carrying boys differently, etc. I mostly attribute it to the amount of carbs I consumed the first three months. It was as if I was an actor playing a part and told she needed to gain thirty pounds in thirty days. Like Charlize Theron in Monster, I took my role very seriously. Sadly, no Oscar here though.

Truly, I was so nauseated and the only thing that slightly helped was feeding the beast, every two hours, all day long (Worse, I couldn’t drink water. Water made it worse so I had to rely on ginger ale, juice and energy drinks, adding to the calorie count.) The only items that worked were muffins, bagels, pizza, pasta… And I didn’t care. Like being sick, hungover, all nighters or travel days, it was a matter of survival. Life and death. And, so, there I sat, ordering copious amounts of carbs from my couch (what the people at our local bagel place must’ve thought!) in between naps and reality TV.

Lilly subsisted on far more television too. That is, when I actually had her. For six weeks, I was so sick I had to have our part-time nanny, full time or my mom take her to and from school, play with her after, feed her meals. I felt like a shell of a mother and human, which made it worse. I pray she doesn’t remember that time. But I’ll never forget it. I watched as she became super clingy, weepy and used to Mommy in bed. Zach pulled double duty and my weekends were a waste.

But I’m back now with only a few setbacks here and there (If something, usually a car ride gets me started, I can’t stop vomiting for a few days again as if my body recalls, “Oh yeah, this is what we were doing!”) and trying to make the most of my time with my girl while I still have it before her brother comes.

Seeing her with my growing belly is so sweet. She says hi to him, talks about what she’s going to teach him, sings him a song… It truly makes it all worth it. Each event I’ve missed, every trip to the bathroom, all the days in bed… To (hopefully) bring her a sibling, which is the real reason we embarked on this journey to begin with and continue to fight for it- and him: It’s all for her.

On to week 19! Let’s do this!