I was reading an article a while back that described the motivations of surrogates. Apparently a lot of women step up not for the money or to help out someone else, but because even though their own family is complete, they just loved being pregnant so much that they want to experience it again.
Um, what? Who are these crazy people?
I don’t think anyone who knows me will be surprised that I’ve fallen more into the “when will this be over?” than the “what a beautiful miracle” camp. There are certainly cool moments, and I’m without a doubt excited about the end result. But still. I maintain that pregnancy itself is kind of awful. And that’s said from the second trimester, which is apparently as good as it gets.
My experience, roughly:
Month 1: Great! Couldn’t be better! (Admittedly I didn’t know yet that I was pregnant.)
Month 2: Cool, I’m pregnant! Wait, why am I throwing up every day? Why can’t I stomach anything but sorbet? Why am I constantly nauseous, even when I don’t eat? And what are all these horrible smells I’ve never noticed? This isn’t very fun.
Month 3: You mean I still have to feel like death? I’m not even far enough along to tell anyone yet, which means I don’t get pity from teachers or classmates or seats from strangers on the shuttle. What a raw deal.
Month 4: Aren’t I supposed to be feeling better by now? (I apologize if I ever didn’t take other people’s complaints about morning sickness seriously. It’s the worst.)
Month 5: Woohoo, I can eat again! But wait — now none of my clothes fit. And I really don’t look pregnant, just fat. Ugh.
Month 6: Kicks! That’s cool! Well, at first. But kicking and wiggling all day? When I’m trying to sit still and concentrate on learning stuff? Too bad I can’t send the kid to his room yet.
As my second trimester begins to wind down, I’m finally looking pregnant. See?
Well, honestly, it depends on the outfit. Some days I’m still in the “maybe she’s just fat” phase. But I’m definitely feeling bigger. Andy recently pointed out that I’ve started groaning and moaning like an old person whenever I stand up, or sit down, or really move in just about any way. I’m sure more of that awaits me in the months to come. But still, I’ll take the aches and pains over the nausea any day. I remember a few months ago, when I couldn’t imagine ever having any desire to eat again. I’m sooo glad to be out of that phase. In fact, the first thing I did when I started to feel better was to make a reservation at one of our favorite restaurants, Volt. We finally went today for brunch. Delicious.
Also, at least now we’re getting close enough that the countdown isn’t totally depressing. I can survive 15 more weeks of pregnancy. 15 weeks. That’s nothing. That’s far less time than it took us to learn French. That’s less than the length of a regular NFL season. (I’ll take Andy’s word on this one.) That’s… 105 days. Actually, that sounds like a few more than I’d like.
A week or two early sounds pretty good. 14 weeks? Maybe even 13? C’mon kid, cut me a break.