As crazy as it may seem, I actually leave 2nd trimester behind and officially begin the home stretch (sort of) of this pregnancy next week. Where has the time gone? I feel like my first pregnancy dragged on and lasted forever and I feel like this one has gone in the blink of an eye. Perhaps because I have so much less free time and energy to simply sit and contemplate the miracle of life in my belly.
Things are going fairly well. No I lie. Things are going great – I feel like I am markedly less tired with this pregnancy than I was with BIT, but I don’t know if that’s true or if my standards and expectations were that much lower this go round. Either way, I’ve been pleasantly surprised. Additionally, I don’t feel like my heartburn has been as bad this time either – but I started taking Zantac in the morning and at night really, really early on in the pregnancy so maybe I just managed to get ahead of it before it got awful. Otherwise this experience has been very similar to my last two, making me wonder if it means that we’re having another girl. Which actually brings me to the most annoying thing about this pregnancy EVER.
We have two girls and I’m pregnant again – therefore, at least according to 90% of the people I’ve encountered, we’re obviously trying for a boy. Because who could possibly be happy with a family of only daughters? And when I tell them that we don’t care whether we have a son or a daughter, they don’t believe me. I’ve actually had people accuse me of lying. One person said outright, “Well, you may not care but I’m sure your husband wants his son.” What the ever-loving-hell?!?! How dare you assume that my family is less than ideal because we only have daughters? How dare you assume that there are things that you can only accomplish with a son, with the possible exception of teaching your progeny to write his name in the snow with urine? How dare you imply that girls are somehow less worthwhile, that they are less valuable members of a family – and by extension – imply that I, as a woman, must have been a disappointment to my parents? On the flip side, I know that people who have only sons get the same crap thrown in their faces – “Aren’t you going to try for a girl? Don’t you want a daughter??” It is ridiculous. Why does anyone feel like they have the right to comment on the potential sex of my unborn baby? The only people who have the right to an opinion on whether we’re having a boy or a girl are me and my husband, and to a lesser extent, my other children. And even then – we don’t have an opinion. We are blessed to be able to have another child. Either sex child will be greeted with love and joy. Period. End of discussion. So stop acting like I’m a liar when I tell you I don’t care.
Okay. End of rant. Can you tell that this gets me exceedingly riled up? If it’s been a bad day and someone has the stupidity and misfortune to broach the subject of Wally’s possible lack of male genitalia, I’m liable to let them have it with both barrels. Though I do make an effort to be more diplomatic when the offender is one of my patients, as difficult as that is for me.
Honestly, there is one other thing about this pregnancy that is annoying, though not nearly as fury provoking as the stupidity of other people. I’m struggling with… the Frankenvein.
This picture doesn’t even do the Frankenvein justice by fully conveying the bulge-y-ness, the squishy-ness that is my crazy leg vein. The kids have a really annoying tendency to come up behind me and poke it, because it is so bulgy and squishy and grotesque. I’ve also got some pretty wicked spider veins going on, primarily below the knees. The ones in my feet are the worst because they hurt – they feel like they’re on fire and ache if I’m not wearing my compression hose. I asked my OB about the Frankenvein and about all my other spider veins at my last visit and was told that after I’ve had the baby and lost all the baby weight, they’ll refer me to a vein specialist and they may be able to do something about them at that point. I guess my career as a leg model is over, however.
As a result of the achiness and burning sensation, I’ve resorted to wearing my compression hose – even with shorts – if we’re doing anything where I’ll be on my feet for an extended period of time. (With the exception of working in the garden, as it is entirely too hot to wear compression socks in July in North Carolina.) I almost look forward to work because I get to wear my comfiest Danskos and my compression hose and my feet and legs don’t actually ache. Though getting the darn things on and off is getting to be a Herculean task that may soon require the assistance of the DreadBrewer….
Weight gain is going well; I’m up about 10 lbs so far, which isn’t awful for 26 weeks. I’m focusing (mostly) on making healthy choices. I had to repeat my glucose screen last week and my level came back totally fine, so that’s a relief. Actually, my level came back at 67, which was low and proves to the skeptical nurse practitioner once and for all that I don’t have gestational diabetes and I am perfectly capable of growing big babies on my own.
And here’s the belly picture for this update:
I’ve had people tell me that I’m getting big. I’ve had people tell me that there’s no way I’m 6 months pregnant because I’m so small. Which leads me to the conclude that the only person who’s opinion matters is mine and I feel like I look pretty darn good, if a little big and with crazy leg veins.