The final stage has arrived.
The Third Trimester that every well-meaning mother warned me about.
Three months of constant mild-to-moderate ugh.
My friend Google claims that the third trimester begins at week 28, but there was a definite shift in my body at 27 weeks. A compilation of shifts, really.
I went from feeling occasional discomfort to the constant sensation of being a fully-cooked stuffed pepper. My clumsiness factor increased dramatically, which is unfortunate for someone who is already having a hard time reaching the floor (I recently chased a piece of feta from my pasta salad around a coworker's classroom because I KEPT DROPPING IT). My legs have started to ache from the knee down and, whenever I get tired, my hips send me into a waddle worthy of the Peabody fountain entourage. My poor husband is now living in a 60-degree igloo, because he can add and take off heat layers while I am becoming increasingly smothered with the warmth of a second human.
Nobody warned me that, when you get pregnant, your body not only turns into a human incubator, but also drops all concern for you in favor of your child (minus getting better hair--that I do appreciate). I had an assumption that pregnant women were uncomfortable because they felt heavy, not because their hormones made their joints less supportive or turned their digestive systems into slow-moving, fermenting trash compactors.
On the other hand, my "baby house" has finally become noticeable, which does have its perks. I can get away with being lazy because I'm obviously pregnant. I have a new, built-in place to put my hands when I feel awkward. People think I'm cute even though I feel gross and uncomfortable. No one will judge me for wearing tennis shoes all the time. AND I can ask others to pick things up off of the floor because I AM THE QUEEN who doesn't stoop to such trivial peasant tasks.
Nobody warned me that, when you get pregnant, your body not only turns into a human incubator, but also drops all concern for you in favor of your child (minus getting better hair--that I do appreciate). I had an assumption that pregnant women were uncomfortable because they felt heavy, not because their hormones made their joints less supportive or turned their digestive systems into slow-moving, fermenting trash compactors.
On the other hand, my "baby house" has finally become noticeable, which does have its perks. I can get away with being lazy because I'm obviously pregnant. I have a new, built-in place to put my hands when I feel awkward. People think I'm cute even though I feel gross and uncomfortable. No one will judge me for wearing tennis shoes all the time. AND I can ask others to pick things up off of the floor because I AM THE QUEEN who doesn't stoop to such trivial peasant tasks.
Also, for the record, the fruit/vegetable-to-fetus comparison is complete bogus. I have a few different pregnancy apps that compare my baby to piece of produce each week. She's been an acorn squash three different times, two of them over a month apart. There was a point in time when one app said that veggie-Emma was the size of a cucumber while another said that my uterus was the size of a sweet potato, and I have a very hard time believing that the average cucumber could fit into the average sweet potato.
All I'm pointing out here is that these app creators must all go to different grocery stores. And maybe one of them is really into underripe fruit.
Josh has also found himself changing, though his has been a slow shift through the course of the pregnancy. His response to cute babies has gone from, "Yeah, it's a baby," to "Awwwww!" ("I think I'm getting some of those lady hormones," he says.) He's doing research, becoming more sentimental, eating more cereal, and slowing down his pace. He's been sympathetic and supportive while I grow spoiled.
A good husband brings food to his wife when she's too miserable to go out for date night. Then he watches Pocahontas with her.
All I'm pointing out here is that these app creators must all go to different grocery stores. And maybe one of them is really into underripe fruit.
Josh has also found himself changing, though his has been a slow shift through the course of the pregnancy. His response to cute babies has gone from, "Yeah, it's a baby," to "Awwwww!" ("I think I'm getting some of those lady hormones," he says.) He's doing research, becoming more sentimental, eating more cereal, and slowing down his pace. He's been sympathetic and supportive while I grow spoiled.
I'm now 29 weeks pregnant, and the last two of those weeks have been sprinkled with meltdowns as I come to grips with the fact that my third trimester discomfort will only be snowballing until April. What waits at the end is physical trauma, weird underwear, and a bunch of sweating.
Followed by no sleep and a whole lot of poop.
It's a lot to take in as I also battle the melancholy of a snow-less January.
Jack embodying my feelings about January (actually, he'd just been "swaddled" by Josh).
Things have been changing since August, which has not been easy. The inward changes in my body and physical abilities have made me more insecure than I expected they would. The outward changes--letting go of things that defined my young adult life, like traveling, long hair, and my tiny car--have made me sad. And so much change is coming--schedule, routines, amount of sleep, house arrangement, budget, postpartum body, so on and yada yada.
Before we decided to become parents, I gave myself a year to adjust to the idea of so much change. We went to China, as I had dreamed we would, and I soaked up the perks of easy date nights and slow mornings off. It's hard now not to cling to that life, a life that I know and understand, even as I know it is slipping away to make room for a life that is better.
How I should really be handling the unknown.
Things have been changing since August, which has not been easy. The inward changes in my body and physical abilities have made me more insecure than I expected they would. The outward changes--letting go of things that defined my young adult life, like traveling, long hair, and my tiny car--have made me sad. And so much change is coming--schedule, routines, amount of sleep, house arrangement, budget, postpartum body, so on and yada yada.
Feeling very mom-ish.
My comfort in the midst of this moaning and groaning is the knowledge that the little girl inside my body is part of a much grander scheme than mine. While I love her as much as I can during these 40 (eternal) weeks, I haven't yet experienced the magical attachment that I know will happen when I first lock eyes with my beautiful baby raisin-frog. I do know from this side, however, that my obedience in bringing Emma into the world is part of God's larger plan that involves all the people who will know her. She will not be mine forever, but the growth she will bring to my spiritual life and to the spiritual lives of others will be eternal. I pray that she will desire God above all else, but even if she doesn't, I am assured that her life will be used in the story of His kingdom. The future holds deeper pain, deeper joy, and deeper sanctification than anything I have yet encountered.
Ahead lies 2 1/2 more months of petty tears, groaning, nesting, praying, and strange Asian exercises in my womb...but I look forward to Spring and thank the Lord that we don't have the gestation period of elephants.
