My first pregnancy was magical. Just a little morning sickness here and there. Even at 7 or 8 months I had the energy to go for brisk walks, be out at events and gallivant here and there. We spent weekends visiting friends in Chicago, New York, Dallas and Austin.
This second pregnancy was fine up until around 6 months. I could feel all my organs dropping lower and lower as if into some kind of abyss. My stomach has the weight of a thousand bricks. My footsteps are small, to avoid any pain or pressure. For a time I had ice cream or chocolate every day. I don’t exercise. I barely stand up or walk.
Truthfully, the pregnancy is going pretty well; it’s just not as magical as the first time.
Today at work, it felt like people were almost ducking out of my way, like they think I’m going to poop out a baby if I keep walking. One woman looked at me and shook her head and all she could say was, “Oh, Lord Jesus.”
She put her hand on my belly with a worried look and said, “In the name of Jesus.” I’m sure it was a prayer of blessing. But it came out like she was in pain from just looking at me, and she might as well have said “Thank you, Jesus, that I’m not in her shoes. Let me get out of here before her afterbirth gets on me.”
Anyway, thank God for mothers. My mom brought me backyard-grown beets, jeera and bean thoran yesterday, along with some chicken. I had some for lunch today. My friend Pokie even stopped by with some delicious homemade pasta last night.
I went for a 3-hour gestational diabetes test yesterday. I don’t have the final results, but it wasn’t looking so good. That meant I had to turn down a plate of jello and tres leches this afternoon. Bummer! I can’t wait for the moment it’s safe to sit down and eat a blackberry pie with a side of Blue Bell Homemade Vanilla ice cream.