As of yesterday I entered the final month of my pregnancy. I’ve been hesitant to complain about being pregnant. After a loss, and then some infertility, I feel ashamed complaining. But, oh my goodness, am I ever ready to have this baby!
I am up 35 pounds and while I know that’s not too, too horrible. It’s far, far too much for my 36-(almost 37!)-year-old frame to handle. I get winded putting on socks, if I get them on at all. (Sometimes I give up.) I have to take breaks while walking up subway stairs, or any stairs for that matter. I’m unable to put on my own snow boots; Toby Joe always helps. Sleeping is difficult as my hips can’t handle the weight of being on my side. I wake up to shooting pains running up and down each leg.
But ultimately, it’s the lack of breath that beats me down the most. I don’t even have to be doing anything strenuous and I have to take a break because I can’t catch my breath.
The most devastating part of feeling this way is how hard it’s been on my very active 3-year-old. I feel like I’ve become a “lazy mom”, one who can’t physically do what he wants me to do, what most normal people take for granted. And it breaks my heart every day.
Before I got pregnant, I ran almost every day. As a family we’d hit the park and while he and Toby Joe played on the exercise equipment, I ran the track. And he loved watching me run! He’d run alongside me sometimes. It was awesome. And I felt proud. I was the parent showing my son that jogging is fun, exercise is a part of life, and his mother and father are both fairly active people.
Naturally, that’s not all I used to do with him. We’d play all the time. I’d hold him up to do the hand-over-hand monkey bars at the playground. I’d chase him around the gym. I was able to sit on the floor with him or have him on my lap. We played! A lot. All the time.
Now? Forget it. I get winded getting up off the sofa. I can’t read a book to my kid without feeling lightheaded or taking deep breaths. I can’t sit on the floor and have picnics with him because my legs get numb due to poor circulation. I feel so lazy. And he notices this. The other day he said, “When grandma and grandpa get back, can we go to their house? I want daddy to come so we can play bowling and ball together.”
Because mama can’t play bowling right now. Mama gets winded looking at a ball.
Did I mention I can’t get through a children’s book without losing my breath? That’s awful.
But the part that will likely haunt me forever is that sometimes I get frustrated for not being able to do something and I take it out on him. I’m not terrible; I’m not abusive or anything even remotely close to that. But he senses that I’m annoyed. And that makes me so sad. I end up feeling even worse.
I’m ready. I’m ready to get my body back. Being this heavy? It’s misery. And, yes, I realize I’m pregnant and gaining weight is par for the course, but it really shouldn’t be this hard. I should be able to read out loud. I should be able to play with my kid.
Mentally, I’m doing OK. But I have noticed twinges of depression, the same type of depression I had after Em was born and after the miscarriage. It hits me usually right around dusk, which isn’t new for me. Dusk has always been the hardest when I’m blue—has been since I was a kid.
I spoke with my doctor about it last week. She put me in contact with a doctor who specializes in postpartum depression. I am to meet her next week to discuss the way I’m feeling and how to deal with it after the baby is born. She informs me that 50% of women who suffer from PPD experience it during the 3rd trimester. So, I am not alone. And I’m quite pleased with myself that I’m getting help ahead of time. I was given a great big pat on the back from my doctor for even noticing. Because with Em, I didn’t know until it was it was over.
We’ll see how that goes. I haven’t ever spoken to a professional before, so this will be new to me. Her office is in the hospital I am to give birth, which means I’ll be visited by her right after I have the baby. I’m looking forward to that as well.
But ultimately? I’m pretty happy. Life is, overall, going really well. I am still attending culinary school (somehow!). I’m still making lollipops and selling them on Etsy. I rolled out a couple of Valentine’s Day lollipops. A personal favorite of mine is called Pop A Cherry. (Yes! I went there!) It’s champagne on the outside, cherry on the inside. It’s really quite lovely.
We also ordered a new couch! It’s set to arrive right around the same time the baby is. I’m hoping they don’t deliver it the day I go into labor or something. But that will likely be our luck! It may seem silly, but I’m exceptionally happy about this new couch. It’s the little things, people! THE LITTLE THINGS!
Anyway, I hate complaining, which is why I haven’t really updated in a while. I have drafts! But the tone borders on whiney. So, I don’t make them live. (Same old, same old!) But I’m ready to meet this little man. I know that I face a whole lot of sleep deprivation and quite possibly some depression. And I have no idea how Em is going to adjust to the new arrival. There are a great deal of unknowns here! I know the transition from three to four will be tough. But I am ready. And Em needs me, he needs an active parent and he doesn’t quite understand why I lose my breath at the slightest movement.
I hope to have more to say in the next couple of weeks. I wish to document my mental state as well as the birth of our second son. I am hoping to avoid PPD, but my doctor made it abundantly clear that women who suffer from it once, will likely experience it again. So, yeah. I will do my best to write through it and share it with others. That is, after all, why I started this blog: to make people feel less alone. I will do my best.