It’s been two years since I wrote in this blog, and in that two years, a lot has happened. Remember that book I said I was writing in my last post? Er, well. That never panned out. Life got in the way, as it tends to do.
Here are just a few of the things that have happened since last I blogged:
- My daughter started kindergarten… And then 1st grade
- I got promoted at work
- I became addicted to running, logging countless miles and putting 4 half marathons under my belt
- We got a 2nd car
Oh, and also, I got pregnant with our 2nd child.
On January 8th—one day before my birthday—I found out that I was pregnant after trying for 2 years. I had started to think it just wasn’t going to happen for us. And then it did.
My first trimester was terrible. I spotted on and off for two weeks and was convinced I was going to lose this baby. Beginning at 5 weeks, I threw up every day, multiple times a day, until I snagged some Diclegis (which did not exist during my pregnancy with Nellie) at 9 weeks and began feeling better. And while the vomiting and spotting subsided, the fatigue, brain fog, and general sense of self-consciousness and uselessness did not.
My second trimester was better. I was able to keep walking, my energy levels were good, and we found out that our baby is a boy. Jude. My best friend threw us a sex reveal party—it was Game of Thrones-themed and it was fantastic. I beat a dragon piñata to reveal the blue candy that told me the baby inside me was a Jude, not an Adeline.
My third trimester has been challenging. The brain fog has continued, and my once-sharp and efficient self has turned into someone who can barely remember what she had for breakfast, let alone do her job as needed at work. I’ve had serious self-doubts about my abilities at my job, and have cried in the bathroom more times than I like to admit. I worry constantly that I’m letting the entire team that I’m a part of down. I’ve never felt so insecure and down on myself as an employee as I have these last 8 months. It’s a feeling that I do not like at all.
I’m currently 38 weeks pregnant (okay, that’s not the total truth. I’ll be 38 weeks on Friday), and am incredibly grateful for this experience—but I’m also incredibly ready to meet my son. (“My son.” I’m still not used to that.) My pelvis hurts. My hips hurt. I am exhausted and cannot sleep at night. I am a weepy, insecure mess. I’m trying to enjoy the parts of this pregnancy that I can (kicks, wiggles, hiccups), because this is most likely our last child.
I’m not sure what compelled me to write here, other than I have not written anything in a very long time. I guess it was the fact that this blog contains nearly a decade of experiences and milestones. It just felt like the right place to jot my thoughts down as I near the end of this pregnancy.
I don’t know when I’ll write here again. It will almost definitely be after Jude is born. After I become a mom of 2.