Third baby, third trimester, third time I’m googling “really thirsty + early sign of labor?”
We made it.
It’s strange, really. Wasn’t it just last week that I was telling Austin I was pregnant and then throwing up into the trashcan? Time flies when you’re having fun.
This has been the physically hardest but the best pregnancy out of the three. The only way I can explain it is this: Everything is easier when you’re saying goodbye. These months mark the end of a chapter in my life I have really enjoyed–and I’ve been aware each day how lucky I am to do it one more time. If I had to compare it with my other pregnancies, it is most similar to Waylon’s, but there have been differences too. For example, out of all the babies I have carried, this one has moved the most and slept the least in utero. Let’s pretend it means nothing.
The third trimester has been fine. The sickness came back, but I’ve been able to sleep at night. And if there’s anything I need in pregnancy, it’s a full night of rest. Other symptoms include round ligament pain, emotional outbursts over kindergarten registration, and the incessant need to organize the kitchen drawers.
Of course there’s the third trimester and then there’s the third trimester. Two very different things. So far this week I’ve made Paula Deen’s potato salad twice and eaten it all by myself like a sea monster. I’ve also asked Austin to do about 52 things I can no longer physically do, like carry boxes up and down three flights of stairs and vacuum behind the desks and dressers. Pray for him.
A few months ago an older and wiser mother of three said this to me about that last baby: “Oh, that one goes so fast. They are born and then they’re running across the graduation stage. Hold tight.” Got me good.
37 weeks and counting. Let’s do this.