I like my midwife a lot, but I was filled with irrational anger. Probably because I'm in my second trimester.
I suppose the second trimester is the best trimester for me. The first trimester is filled with midnight puking (WHO thought up the term "morning sickness?) and awful headaches. The third one, at least with Lainey, was filled with leg cramps and ever-increasing hip pain. The second trimester, for me, isn't really much better than those other two, though.
All the books say that, oh, it's a wonderful trimester. You're not puking and you have a cute little baby bump people will compliment you on, you can find out the gender if you want and people start throwing you baby showers. I like free stuff so I'm totally cool with people giving me gifts. Even from strangers, I mean, if any readers out there want to send me anything.
But that middle trimester is really no better physically for me. Heartburn starts; I'm eating the tiniest meals and even if I stop eating at 7pm, I often wake up at 1am feeling like dinner is still stuck in my ribs and threatening to travel higher if I move wrong. My back aches. One cashier told me, "Oh, I just KNOW you're having a girl!" and was terribly offended when I said I was carrying a boy, like I had nothing better to do than to call her out on being completely wrong in front of her whole line. I guess other women like chatting about the miracle of pregnancy, but when someone says to me, "You MUST be so happy to be pregnant, you're absolutely glowing!" I want to reply, "Actually my face is a bright blushed color because it took me half an hour to poop earlier. My butt really hurts."
Then there's the whole I-already-have-a-kid-this-time-around thing. Unlike the first time around, where I could come home from work and collapse on the bed and sleep for 13 hours, there is no "come home from work" part of the day. I have to entertain my existing child ALL DAY LONG. And after a while you start running out of ideas.
We started cooking. Lainey finds this incredibly fun.
|One tablespoon whipped cream for the cheesecake. Ten for my mouth.|
Even though the results are a little...messy. Edible, but messy. Still, when my back hurts and I'm exhausted but can't lie down, starving but can't eat, having to clean up the results of an experimental peanut butter no-bake cheesecake is daunting. You might as well have asked me to go scrub the entire exterior of a space shuttle with a sponge. While it's in space.
|A cheesecake channeling modern abstract art. Our child is just THAT talented.|
In conclusion, I believe that each trimester of pregnancy equally sucks. Each in its own special way.
But...do give me a cheesecake at any time. Mmm.