Pregnancy #2

Can’t you tell I’m on my second pregnancy? Not nearly as many posts about it. I’m sure my few readers have no clue which week I’m on (finishing number 15 as we speak). And while there’s not much novelty to this one, it has been different. In some ways, very different.

The whole tired thing I’m not 100% sure is that different. For there is a big difference between being pregnant with no one but a grown husband to care for versus being pregnant with a grown husband and a toddler to care for. I can’t sleep in, I might manage a cat nap a few mornings a week because I insist Emry have “quiet time” in her crib with her books and stuffed animals for at least 45 minutes every morning and, while Emry mostly entertains herself, I feel like I am forever helping her clean up toys, feeding her a meal, changing a diaper or just picking her up because she’s stuck somewhere. So while I feel more tired, I can’t say I actually am.

Now the sick part I can honestly say is MUCH worse. I don’t get morning sickness. I didn’t with Emry, I don’t with this one. But I do get evening sickness. I suppose I shouldn’t complain much for I don’t throw up, or turn green, or have to give up eating. And by the evening, I can put Emry to bed and not have much to do. But I lay in bed nearly every night with an upset stomach, feeling miserable and sometimes wanting food to cease to exist. And it doesn’t matter what I eat, if I eat or when I eat. Nor does it apparently matter that my first trimester is supposed to be over. I am still sick.

I don’t have any cravings this pregnancy either. I mean, I do have one or two on occasion (usually French fries), but they pass and can be different. But there is one food I CAN’T STAND. Eggs. I feel sick…enough said.

I guess I might be getting bigger a little faster, but I’m not in maternity clothes yet and I might just be feeling bigger than I am because a couple of things don’t fit and I just feel out of sorts. I actually gained no weight between my first two doctor’s appointments. I’m sure I’ve gained now but while I’m already imagining 20 pounds, I know that’s not true at all. Looking at me, you can’t tell.

The conclusion of all this? “It’s a boy!” So says Ed. So says his mom. But I dare you to ask just about any mother who has more than three children, and I’m sure she’ll tell you the same thing: every one was different. This little orange-sized baby is not Emry. He (or she!) is himself. And that’s good. Even if it is sickly exhausting.