I have a confession to make: I keep forgetting I’m pregnant. No, I’m not kidding. Yes, that probably makes me a front runner in the competition for Worst Pregnant Mom Ever.
With Melia, I knew exactly how far along I was at any given moment, right down to the day, hour and minute. I knew which food to compare her approximate size to (sesame seed, walnut, peach, grapefruit, etc.) I spent my days on the internet, looking up pregnancy and parenting websites, shopping for diapers, researching strollers and car seats and swaddling blankets.
This time, I only know how pregnant I am when the doctor reminds me at our monthly appointment. I’m usually too busy to pay attention to the physical changes, and yes that includes the exhaustion, and the fact that my bras don’t fit anymore. I’m breaking rules left and right, like blue cheese in my salads and brie on my crackers. My first pregnancy was all baby, all the time. This one is just as important, but Baby Webb #1 still occupies my mind and thoughts 99% of the day.
Poor Baby Webb #2. I promise to try harder and make you feel special, too. You are doing a really good job at giving me an occasional jab to remind me that I really am pregnant. Especially when your big sister is sitting on top of you.
Pregnancy is always a blessing and a miracle, even if I need to be reminded of that more often this time around.
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Life with the baby Webb's!
