I’m back … and I will be twenty-six weeks tomorrow. Don’t ask me how I feel. Because the truth is you don’t want to hear me complain. But then again I would feel better to vent. Let’s see … at six and a half months … I’m already almost 200 pounds (192 to be exact), up from my usual five-foot-six, 154 pounds. I look as if I could go any day now, but would rather wait it out. Everything below my neck is sore. There’s so much pressure on my pelvis I feel like it’s going to push my vagina to my knees. And I’m only a measly six and a half months.
But on the bright side (yes, one does exist), my two little boys are doing well. I have high hopes for them. Especially for the smaller one as he seems to love pouncing on Mommy’s bladder as if it’s a trampoline. So he’s a jumper, eh? I know all the Jordan sneakers I buy him will be put to use. He’d better come out dunking or I will be highly upset. Oh and the other twin? Well his knee is constantly gliding across the top of my belly … smooth graceful movements … a swimmer perhaps? As graceful as Michael Phelps? (Minus the bong of course!) Whatever they decide to be, I will be there to support them. It’s these thoughts that keep me going. The anticipation of meeting them and getting to know them and having them to hold, that makes all this worth it in the end.
At this point, even though I don’t feel like myself, there’s something about having kids that is invigorating. I want more but then again … I am all set. Three is plenty. I think I’m just going to enjoy these moments that I claim to hate because the truth is I don’t plan on experiencing pregnancy again. Although I must admit it is one of the best gifts I have ever been given … the ability to conceive. So even though I complain, I am grateful for the opportunity, and I hope one day I will look back on the whole pregnancy and laugh. One day. Just not today.