And Then There Were Four

I think I am finally at liberty to say that we are expecting a second. If I wait any longer I will probably be in labor by the time I write anything; I’m about half-way through the pregnancy now. Just past the wanting-to-puke stage, which is too bad because I so badly wanted to complain in public about it.

Most of this pregnancy has been me saying, I definitely don’t remember feeling this way last time—I don’t remember feeling so nauseous I had to lie curled up in bed without any noise or movement. I don’t remember feeling like a bowling ball was pushing around my intestines every time I moved. I don’t remember feeling so incapacitated with fatigue. Working up the energy to shower was the worst. Plus there was that awful smell of the soap. I probably wouldn’t have bothered for the entire three months if I didn’t have to go out.

And of course most of it was D saying, yeah, you said this the last time. The exact same thing.

Except I probably didn’t say the part about how it felt changing a stinky diaper when you already feel like puking. People say the second time around, pregnancy is harder but labor is easier. That’s probably true; I don’t know if the symptoms were worse, or if I just felt that way because I had to take care of an eighteen-month old at the same time.

But I am trying not to lose the magic. The first time around, there was so much magic and wonder. I walked around feeling like I had a secret, the best secret in the world. We read about how she was the size of a blueberry, then a grapefruit. I talked to her sometimes, thought about her a lot. To be honest, I’ve spent most of the last few months complaining about feeling chronically ill. Wishing I could feel myself again. Missing having a normal relationship with food.

But I don’t want to lose any wonder with this second. This time it was a little harder getting pregnant; this time I felt the loss of wanting another baby but not having one. That period lasted only part of a year but it ran deep and felt long. So I know, perhaps more thoroughly than I did with E, that this one is a stroke of grace, a gift, a wonder. I’m finally stepping back and thinking on that more. It helps that I’m finally able to think about more than not puking.