This does NOT get old
The other day I was googling fatigue during the third trimester, to get a sense of whether my deep and abiding exhaustion is normal. Before long I found myself in the land of hits that were not about being pregnant and tired, but were instead about being tired of being pregnant. Twee little remarks like …and let’s face it, you’re a little tired of being pregnant by now... Wink! Nudge! We’re all
FERTILE WHORES girls here!
Watching some of you go through this, it’s seemed pretty clear that the third trimester is nature’s way of making sure you actively want to give birth, both in the sense of accepting that the amazing closeness of sharing your body with a fetus is ending, and in the sense of being ready to go through the experience of pushing him or her on out of there. And I knew that my happy days of skipping through the second trimester land of flowers and bluebirds would gradually morph into something that involved…waddling. Back aches. Exhaustion.
Well, the Time of Waddling is upon me, friends. As are the backaches. (I must say, even if I wanted to accomplish things at work, being unable to sit in a chair for more than ten minutes would make it difficult.) And the exhaustion–wow. I get up in the morning feeling groggy and shitty, and it’s downhill from there. It’s not the mysterious stunned-with-a-sledgehammer exhaustion of T1, either, it’s more like being reeeeeeeally old. A million, billion, trillion years old.
I was relatively prepared for all that, and I’m prepared for it to get worse. After all, my body doesn’t know it’s getting a c-section, so it has to make me want to push a baby out rather than endure another day of whole-body discomfort.
But I was not prepared for this: I still can’t believe I’m pregnant. It still blows my mind every damn day. Even as I get accustomed to having a frisky fetus poking me in all kinds of places, I still struggle to believe that this has actually worked. And while I acknowledge that this pregnancy has been completely trouble free (knock on every available wooden object)–no endless nausea, no scary contractions, no bleeding, no bedrest, no GD, nothing!–which doubtless has a major impact on my point of view, I just don’t think I could become tired of the amazingness of the miracle.
Last night Mr. Bunny had his hand on my belly and said something like if only we could have a baby and keep this part too! I reserve the right to change my mind when I am crippled with pain in a few weeks, but for now, I wholeheartedly agree.