Pregnancy at 37 is very different than pregnancy at 29. In case you were wondering.
My body likes to remind me of this on an hourly basis. I'm having to rearrange some priorities in our home so that I don't go insane. Priorities like "I like my house clean" or "clean clothes are a nice luxury".
I am currently 26 weeks pregnant, and pretty sure I look as pregnant as I did with my son when I gave birth. It's like your body just says "oh, I remember what this is like" and then your abdomen falls out. I am having a love/hate relationship with it. I love the fact that I don't have to suck in, because, what's the point? I love that people expect me to be big. I love that I can blame every ridiculous thing I say or do on pregnancy. I do and say these things in my normal life, but it's so nice to have a scapegoat.
The hate part - my limitations.
This morning I moved a shelf. I shouldn't have. I have been sitting *mostly* since around 10 this morning because of it. I still feel like I should have been able to move that shelf, cleaned my house top to bottom while schooling my children and maybe whittling a handmade rocking chair. She-woman. Instead I exerted all my energy too early in the day and now I'm a little stuck. Good thing my kids can feed themselves now.
I have realized that I have to get most important things done before 2:00 PM. The dishes, laundry, and cleanup that I usually finish up in the evening has been transferred to morning because I'm generally in a chair or in bed feeling very pregnant.
But no matter how difficult it gets, it's not hard to remind myself that there is a light at the end of the tunnel. A sweet boy bundle of "worth it" that will be part of my life forever. As my husband keeps reminding me, this is just a season in my life. A temporary limitation. On a good day this makes me feel warm and fuzzy.
On a bad day? I want to punch him.