As my first trimester is ending, I am taking an inventory of the process to date. I did the pee on a stick thing, and the initial excitement, then I did the bloating and the indigestion. I accomplished great feats of nausea and misery. I tried hot foods, I tried cool foods, I tried carbonated beverages, and even one bitty sip of beer (yum). My clothes got tight. And then my clothes got tighter. My boobs got bigger. And then bigger. And then a bit bigger. My fat started to accumulate anywhere it could - my stomach, my thighs, my face, and a little more on my thighs. And, my stomach now looks like it belongs to someone who is just a pathetic overweight person who doesn't exercise and has three cats and no man.
I'm ready to move on and find a way to enjoy the rest of this pregnancy, which is most different from my first not in how I feel, but in my perspective about how I feel. This time around life is just so much more matter-of-fact, and this pregnancy feels like more of an inconvenience than some blessed damn miracle. It's like ordering something online. I ordered the damn sweater a week ago, why isn't it here yet? I have a spot cleared in my drawer for the sweater and the anticipation of it's arrival has lost all luster, just deliver it already.
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