Now, I see why some women have 18

Hurray for the 3rd trimester!

When I first got pregnant, women would say to me, "Oh, I loved being pregnant. Enjoy every minute of it Just enjoy it while it lasts. It's the BEST."

I would smile and nod politely while my inner dialogue was going something like this:

"Are you on crack? This is the dumbest thing I've ever done. If they told you the truth in school about pregnancy, no one would get pregnant!"

If it wasn't for the peeing 16 times a night, the insomnia, the morning sickness that went all day, the lowered immune system, the perpetual tightening of the waistband, the new and exciting addition of wet mucus membranes everywhere (knowing glance), the slowly horrifying descent into "can't. ever. take. a. full. breath. the. damn. baby. is. impeding. my. diaphragm.,  the lack of drinking really capped off the joy that these women were telling me was pregnancy.

"Oh, I loved every moment of pregnancy." I would mimic to myself as I found myself once again puking a bit in my mouth because my sweet husband had dared to have garlic at lunch and garlic and I weren't getting along for that trimester.

When one of my friends told me that he and his wife only had one child because pregnancy was so hard on his wife, I nodded vigorously. I completely understood. That made total sense to me. Maybe we would be a one child family too, despite my lifelong plans to have two children.

I was assured that the second trimester would be awesome. I would LOVE the second trimester. "That's when women feel their best!" all the baby books assured me. Ah yes, yes, the baby books. I was still reading them all diligently. And, to be fair, I was (and remain) fascinated by the science experiment going on in my body. Even if my body was revolting and being dragged, kicking and screaming, into every next phase, I was still fascinated. "Oh, he's developing ears this week! No swearing in front of the baby."

The second-trimester-lovers totally lied though. The second trimester did bring about the cessation of the all-day-sickies and my eating habits got back to normal (protein shakes, healthy food, veggies, fruit). Little Bramble Bump was finally getting the 7 fruits and veggies per day that he deserved. That, in and of itself, was cause for jubilation. But with the ending of the constant carsickness came new and exciting pregnancy side effects; I could no longer get up from a seated position without trying to put my hips back into place. If I tried to walk without my hip joints locked firmly back into place, calamity would ensue and I would stumble into the nearest door frame. This became such a frequent occurrence that my husband quit looking up when I got out of bed in the evenings. It wasn't that he didn't care if I hurt myself; it was just that it was so routine that he didn't notice the thumps anymore.

My feet started hurting all the time. "Oh, it's the relaxin. That's just your feet spreading so you won't be able to wear any your super cute shoes after you're done being pregnant. What's that honey? No one told you that? Oh...."

The most subtle change was in my fashion sense. I realized I had completely lost any and all desire to look presentable when I looked into my closet and thought, "I wonder why I have a tent hanging up in there?" And then, with no real emotion finished the thought, "Oh, right, that's my new shirt dress." Fit and clothing don't matter. I would never have a waist again. Who cares what the latest fashions are? They will never be my life again.

I started walking like a pregnant woman with my hands on my low back all the time. Now I realize why pregnant womens' hands are always on their low backs. A) hip joints out of place (see above) and B) Aching. Horrifying. Back. Pain. "Oh, that's just because the baby is pushing on everything and your body is just trying to adjust. Have you tried yoga yet?" Yes. But what I haven't tried is stabbing you in the thigh with this fork. I bet I'd feel some pain relief then!

We've finally hit the third trimester. My back still hurts. But I don't notice it as much, sort of like the friend that stayed for an extended period of time and is now woven into the fabric of your life. I'm wearing the same 3 pairs of shoes all the time (all new since the cruel relaxin hormone came in). I wear tents daily. I've quit reading fashion magazines (really, what's the point?). And I've got my stumbling out of bed routine down pat. I barely dent the door jam now when I fall into it.

The only new thing? Our little baby has turned into the most adorable acrobat in my belly. He twists and turns, kicks, hiccups and spasms with alarming frequency (I only say  "alarming" because I'm hoping he's an easy-going calm baby and the more he does his little spastic jerks, the more I worry that I've pegged him wrong and I am instead going to give birth to a fully formed little rhinoceros who will make mincemeat out of any working motherhood plans I had, not to mention, the house).

I can now sit and watch my belly move and change shape as our son tries to get comfortable, or express his extreme displeasure at the 'Yellow Norsk Goat Cheese' I've just eaten (he's not a fan ... but he has no choice right now so I keep eating it). It is the best feeling in the entire world (no, not to know that I've started forcing my son to eat food he hates early in life; but to feel this fully formed little life inside of me. It is awe-inspiring).

I can see his little shape turning in there. I can feel his hard frame coming to rest and trace his little bottom, or his hard head. It's like watching a mysterious sea monster rippling, just below the surface. Only, unlike the movies, it's not menacing. It's sweet. It's fascinating. And it feels ... right.

God help me, I could do this again.