99 days until his due date = bittersweet

It's hard to believe it's been a month since Jim last took pictures of my belly...I don't know where the last 28 days have gone, but if the proof is in the pic, then they landed squarely on my tummy! I felt "cute" today....until I uploaded these pictures. =( The last 3 or 4 days, I've really internalized the emotions I've read about in my pregnancy books: where the mommy-to-be starts to struggle with her body image, her shifting shape, her stretch marks, the number on the scale. Although Dr. Gibbs' scale showed that I've only gained 4 lbs during this pregnancy, there is no doubt that things are a-changing. My skin hasn't been this pimply since I was 14; my butt (which has never been my best asset [no pun intended]) seems huge to me; please don't comment if you concur; and my hair --which is, according to pre-natal vitamin lore, supposed to be growing like crazy is STILL taking forever to grow out (which is why, despite an hour in the bathroom this morning, it looks horrendous in these photos) God bless Whitney for the miracle I know she'll be able to work with this mop in a couple weeks.

But, here, as I debut the first bare-bellied shot of Sprout's current nursery, I reveal the phenom that at least Jim thinks is beautiful (and yes, I know it's pale). I know that the next 2 months are only going to get "worse." I know this; and I hope that I'm okay with it as it happens. Thank goodness I have a husband who makes me feel pretty (and dare I say, even sexy sometimes?!), even when I haven't bothered to shave, or brush my hair (or teeth, for that matter), or change out of my pajamas. I know this little nameless boy of ours is 100% worth it, no question. I'm just going through a phase, I guess. And from everything I read, and chat about online with my pregnant Internet friends, all I'm feeling is normal. (Oh, I hope so.)

Now, onto the real heart of the matter, and the reason behind today's post. As excited as I am to meet this little guy who has been dancing on my spleen (and in my heart), I'm sad that my pregnancy is on the "last lap." I officially enter my third trimester next Sunday (27 years = 27 weeks; it's fitting, I guess). And given our complications, I doubt I'll be pregnant for all 13 of those weeks. So, I know the end is, if not near, a LOT closer than the beginning. And I'm sad. =(

I feel like I haven't really gotten to experience being "pregnant." It's as though all I've been for the past months is merely the sick anomaly. First the sulfa crisis, and just as I was recovering from that, came the cervix, and then the abruption, and then the hospital stay and kidney scare, and then the notching artery. Ugh. I feel like pretty much every conversation I have, with the exception of when it's Jim who is talking to me, starts with "So, how are you feeling?" Which is fine, I guess. It means that people are concerned. And I'm sure I'm not the only pregnant women to ever be asked how I'm doing. But I feel like it's ALL I'm asked.

As I sit here and type, I realized that I sound whiny and ungrateful for all the people who have taken an interest in my pregnancy. I'm not (ungrateful). I promise. Your concern means you care and that I (and Sprout, too) am loved. But, yeah. I still feel the way I feel: I'm not ready to be done with this pregnancy, but I also realize that prolonging it isn't going to fix my "problem." I'm not going to get "better." I'm not going to all of a sudden start having a normal pregnancy.

So, my solution, I guess, is to put on my BGP's (requisite Big Girl Panties) and deal with the fact that this is the pregnancy that God wanted me to have, and just because it's not what's portrayed in Hollywood, in my pregnancy books, or in the Isabella Oliver catalog, it's okay. I'm still going to get what I want on the other end of this 9 (or 8 or 7 1/2) months, and that is a beautiful baby boy.

Okay....I hope those of you who actually made it through this eternally long post can take it for what it is: just my ramblings on how I'm feeling this beautiful Saturday afternoon (a little skewed, I'll admit, and blame on 9 weeks of bed rest and a week-long cold). I love all of you who care enough to put up with my moods and who bother to read my scribbles. Until next time (when I hope I'm in a better mood....), have a wonderful weekend. xoxoxxo