Poor second baby. I call this post 22 weeks, but I’m nearly a week late. Let’s use our imagination, shall we?
- 22 weeks. Websites vary on the estimated size of the 3rd boy in my life (!!) so I listed them in the photo and then took some liberties with the estimations myself. Doesn’t a foot long sub sound like something that I need to shove in my face the second I’m done posting this? I honestly think so, too.
- Kicking. He’s made the transitions through “I can’t wait for the baby to kick.” to “Ooo, how cool is this?!” to “Please stop kicking me in the ribs.”
- Getting taste buds and nerve endings. I suppose those are important senses.
- A whale. I’m pretty sure that my pants stopped fitting roughly 20 minutes after I peed on that damn test. They say that you show faster the second time and I’m here to tell you that that is, in fact, true. It’s like this ball of cells started to split and my body was all like “HELL YEAH!! I remember this!!” and instantly took on the figure of my 9 month pregnant self. I may be exaggerating, but the feeling is real.
Oh, the memories:
- Pregnancy insomnia. I thought I was lucking out with this one and still able to sleep through most nights without bathroom breaks. But last night I woke up at 2am and have been awake ever since. I’m so tired.
- Awesome finger nails. I bit them all off out of boredom this morning while watching infomercials, but you’re going to have to trust me that they were there until then.
- The need to nest. We’ve already ordered the crib and dresser and I’m making Angel drive a Uhaul to Grand Rapids tomorrow to pick it up because OHMYGOD if I don’t have a crib set up immediately than it will never get done. I think Angel appreciates this phase of pregnancy the best because his To Do list blows up and my nagging is on threat level extreme. He’s so lucky to have me.
What the hell:
- Acid reflux. I remember it very clearly, but not until third trimester and I’m still a few weeks away from there and I’m already through my first bottle of Tums. Insider trading tip: invest in Tums. I know what’s coming.
- I itch. Like crazy. I’m a walking ball of oily hormones and I want to scratch my skin off.
- Cravings. If it’s sugar, I want it. Last month I came home from Costco with a box of 36 bags of skittles, at which point Angel deemed me unfit to go to Costco unsupervised.
I suppose this is the best time to tell you how this little adventure began. We were in San Diego for my best friend’s wedding and I suspected that my alcohol consumption was about to be hindered so I took a pregnancy test before heading to the rehearsal but then totally forgot about it (poor second baby. I forgot about him before I knew about him). So when I came back later to see a faint second line, I was the person who wasn’t sure if it was real or because it had been sitting there all morning. To eliminate the confusion we stopped at the store on our way to the venue for digital tests. I had just chugged a bunch of water since I was running around so it came back “-NO” and I cautiously enjoyed adult beverages for the weekend. The morning after the wedding Lucas woke me up on east coast time so while I was half asleep watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse and packing to drive up to Disneyland I took the second digital test and did a double take when it said “+YES”. So I woke up Angel with my pee (true love), and he looked at Lucas and said “You have 9 months to get out of diapers.” and now here we are, 22 weeks into it.
Keeping pregnancy a secret through first trimester is like trying to function normally with the flu that you can’t tell anyone you have. Pair that with holiday parties and I looked like a total alcoholic to my friends here. I kept saying that I wasn’t drinking because I was so hung over from the night before which explained the look on my face, running to the bathroom, and volunteering to be DD. No friends, I wasn’t really hung over every day of December. That would have been more fun.
Hormones, y’all. When they woke me up at 2am to go to the bathroom and then watch infomercials, around 4am I found myself crying into a jar of pickles.
Over watching Toy Story.
I’m so pregnant.