Pregnancy is getting old. This is my third pregnancy, and with each subsequent one, I grow an additional twenty pounds from the last. I think this is my last pregnancy. And not just selfishly because my body will be over 200 pounds soon, but also because I’ve always wanted two boys and soon I will have just that. We will wait a little while after Holden is born before coming to a firm decision, and then, snip snip.
I am the largest I’ve ever been, and let me tell you – it’s uncomfortable. Even unfolding myself from the car is a hassle. Climbing up a flight of stairs feels equivalent to scaling a wall. Pregnancy is such a weird stage – a stage of waiting. You can dream about and make a list of “after pregnancy” to do items, but there’s not much use in starting many of them while you’re still pregnant (like starting to limit sweets – that won’t happen).
I feel like the rest of my life will start after Holden is born. Until then, I am in a weird state of limbo. I have dreams of taking my two sons to the children’s museum, the zoo, large parks. I dream of running again, of not having acid reflux anymore, of working less hours. They are dreams which can come true, but not today. Today, they are locked away in a time capsule, waiting to be opened after another season comes and goes.
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