Depending on which count you’re following (yeah, cause I know you’re all on tenterhooks re: my pregnancy – “what will happen next?!!”), I am 20 weeks today. I know the ticker says Wednesday is week change day, but I’m too damn lazy to fix it.
From here on out, I am closer to a full-term baby than I am to infertility – but damn if it still doesn’t seem like a long way to go. To say that I have failed to grasp this would be putting it mildly. I am hoping that delivery, like Pesach, goes away if you don’t think about it. Check back with me in three weeks to see how this plan worked.
It’s a weird place to be, this midpoint. On the one hand, I don’t really feel all that pregnant (aside from looking like I swallowed something) and I am waiting to really Be Pregnant. This still feels a good bit like faking with the possibility of motherhood so far, far away. On the other hand, the idea that, God willing, I will have to get my shit together within the next 20-something weeks and start being a parent makes those little hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
I have finally reached that point. The “what the hell was I thinking” point. I planned on being here several years ago and thought I might never have to pass it since I waited, but I’m still here.
Maybe that’s what they mean by midpoint.
In other non-bowel-related news, I’m having some owies on the insides of my hips. I am told this is round ligament pain and is normal in pregnancy. It’s not bad enough to do anything about, but it’s annoying since it only hits me once in a blue moon. When it does, I feel all frail.
I chickenshitted out of posting a pic last Friday. It was largely (no pun intended) a shock for me to see what I look like. I am trying to drum up the courage to post a belly shot, but I assure you there will be no head attached.
I’ve also found a lovely way to sooth the savage beast within. I’m already in love with this baby, but I could do without the 3:45 a.m. wakeup with kicking. I’ve found that when our smallest kitty, still really a kitty, curls right up next to my bump and does the vibrating purr, two things happen. All kicking stops. And it feels as though something, not necessarily a hand, is rubbing against me from the inside. I’ve never been simultaneously overwhelmed with emotion and love while being completely freaked out by the fact that my little girl is petting her kitty from within me. Ack.
I have lots of good posts swishing around in my soupy brain and I will try and find some time to get them into wordpress here shortly. In any event, remind me to post the ones about the bus seat and the cow.