The first time I was pregnant, I marvelled at each and every little bit of it. Every new bodily change was yet another sign that my body was making! a! person! and that baby would soon be here and it was oh-so-fabulous. I was tired and achy and swollen and uncomfortable, but it was Wonderful! Go pregnancy! I love you!
And this time? This time I am So. Freaking. Done.
Don't get me wrong, the baby part of this whole process is just as exciting as the last time. I am thrilled that there will be a baby -- scared too, but thrilled -- and I can't wait to meet him / her. I am thrilled to be adding to our family, and grateful as all hell that things have so far gone so well. That part is still wonderful.
But at the risk of sounding terribly UNgrateful ... goddamn it, I miss my body. I miss having nice ankles. I miss walking as fast as I want to. I miss the fact that getting off the couch didn't used to be an ordeal. I miss picking things up off my floor without grunting with the effort. I miss turning over in bed without waking up. I miss drinking wine with dinner and eating soft cheeses and pate and tuna rolls. I miss my old clothes. I miss being able to breathe properly, and take advil when I have a headache, and just generally not having to think about every damn little thing I put in my mouth to eat / ingest. I miss curling up and being comfortable. Being comfortable in general. I miss not knowing every second I'm at the office where my tailbone is. Because it lets me know with a huge complaint every time I switch positions. I miss wearing my nicer shoes. I miss my clothes. I miss my thighs. I miss putting on my socks without effort. I miss drinking as much tea as I want to during the day. And sometimes even COFFEE. I miss getting down to the floor and up easily. I miss not being so damn tired all the time. I miss not being kicked in the ribs. I just miss being able to do what I want, when I want to, without being constricted by this extra weight and extra consideration.
The only thing I don't miss are my pre-pregnancy boobs, but I'd give these new ones up in a second for the ability to run. And let's face it: I'll be giving up these ones regardless anyway. It's not like I get to KEEP anything about my body that I actually LIKE.
But it's more than that, too. It's the feeling that I really do want to just get on with my life. To start raising the children and seeing them flourish and grow and do great things. I don't want to be gestating any more. I want to see my kids grow up, and by association, I want to be done with this part of my life and move on to what *I* want to do, like investing in my career and moving on to new writing projects and seeing what else there is beyond 24 / 7 mommying. And while I know that I won't get to do that for a while, the end of the pregnancy will be a very big step in that direction. A good step. One that means that my body and my uterus are mine again, and will be forever. No more gestating. No more awkwardness. No more tracking fertility. I can grow old and be at peace with it, and start concentrating on other things.
Whine, whine whine.
I know. It's pathetic. It's only another month, and then it's unlikely (barring some kind of accident) that we'll ever do this again. And in another month it'll all be over and God willing I'll be blessed with a beautiful healthy baby. But that month right now feels like FREAKING FOREVER.
This is, I know, partly just the normal end-of-pregnancy stuff. Most women feel like this, it's totally normal and just part of being pregnant. I also know that a few days ago I wrote about how awesome being pregnant was and how I was all set to press pause here, and can I just note that HORMONES, people. It's all just crazy-ass hormones.
But I wanted to write it down anyway. Just in case in a year from now I start thinking ... yeah, three might be a great idea ...
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