Today is the start of my third trimester, and I can’t help but marvel over just exactly where the time has gone. This baby has been with me through one road trip to Nashville, two hurricanes, three birthdays (not mine, obviously, but my mom’s, dad’s, and Kennedy’s), three major holidays and the preparation for a fourth, lots of ups and downs with regard to aches and pains, and a weight gain of about 16lbs after an initial weight loss of 8lbs (so I’ve actually gained 24lbs).
I’ve told all my friends and family that it’s likely that this will be my last pregnancy. I have no idea what the future holds, if I will want another after our son has arrived, or if it’s even in the cards according to God’s plans for us, but because I’m treating this like it’s the last time, I’m going about things very differently than I did before.
This is where I come to a tough spot in this blog post, because I’d normally freely divulge just what my intentions are with the remainder of gestation for our son and how I want his delivery to be both similar, and different from, his sister’s. Normally, I’d write in depth about all the ways I’ve changed since August 2013, making me a different kind of mom now. I am not opposed to speaking about these aspects of my newest bundle and myself, but I don’t want to put much onto this blog for the time being as part of my larger move to become a more private person (hence why I set fire to all my social media accounts this year).
My skirting the larger subject of labor begs the question of why I bothered to bring the subject up in the first place. It’s simple: I am anxious to meet him. I’m anxious to see how much better at this I’ve gotten since the first time around. I look forward to the day, whenever it comes, that I can hold him in my arms. I anticipated meeting my daughter this way, but I was so new to the mom experience that I was a little too infatuated with just pregnancy. Pregnancy is beautiful (as is breastfeeding, attachment parenting, cosleeping, etc.), but it’s definitely just 1/8 of the tip of the iceberg. Raising a child these past three years has taught me that there is much more that awaits. I do enjoy the bump as an accessory, though.