Posted by: Hannah | 08/05/2011

18 weeks

Eighteen weeks. EIGHTEEN WEEKS?!? The hell??

I’m telling you, I went on vacation and just… stopped counting. I knew I was pregnant, of course, because a couple of mornings I was sick and I discovered that this baby loathes apple-cinnamon Cheerios (odd thing to loathe, isn’t it?) But I didn’t think about it much except at the end of the day when every ligament in my lower body was squealing in pain and I couldn’t sleep a night through without getting up to go to the bathroom.

Yesterday the clinic called to confirm my 20-week ultrasound and I was all la-la-la-drink-a-shitpile-of-water-close-the-dayhome-arrange-a-babysitter-for-the-boys and then it dawned on me… if that’s in two weeks, then I am eighteen weeks now and thus NEARLY HALFWAY DEAR GOD HOW DID THAT HAPPEN.

This is definitely our last baby. We can’t afford a fourth and besides, we as a family love traveling and want to do more of it before Thing #1 gets too old and jaded to be seen in public with us. So – done. For reals this time. And because I know that for sure, I was determined going in to savour every last Precious Moment(tm), because in my recollection I rushed through both previous pregnancies in a furious desire to have them done so the babies could come out.

I forgot something.

Pregnancy is BORING.

Like, so boring. Like, the most boring thing ever. For weeks at a time nothing happens except that pants get a little tighter, joints get a little looser, and sex gets more logistically difficult because there is this ever-expanding belly in the way. Sometimes the baby moves and that’s fun, but generally it’s a whole lot of hurry up and wait.

Which is how I totally lost track of how pregnant I actually am.

Remember your first pregnancy? How if anyone asked you “how far along?” you could instantly answer “17 weeks and three days!” with a huge slightly manic smile? Yeah, this is not happening the third time. My response tends to be a slightly confused look followed by “well, I’m due right after Christmas” because I can remember that.

I also kind of forgot just how much I dislike being pregnant.

I don’t like the clothes (well, who does). I don’t like the random aches and pains. I don’t like that after a particularly trying day I can’t have a glass of wine once the ravening chimpanzees darling children are in bed. I don’t like the heartburn, the sudden food aversions, the craving for endless meals full of carbs and my total distaste for green vegetables.

I’m not counting the days until the baby is born in the usual frantic “OMG forty weeks is taking FOREVER”, but neither am I sitting in patch of sun knitting little booties and decorating the nursery like I’d secretly planned.

It still feels unreal. And I’m still half-scared that something is going to happen to bring it all to an end. Reading too many blogs about baby loss has frightened me more than I’m letting on.

So – ultrasound in two weeks. Fingers crossed that it will show a happy, healthy baby floating peacefully along. Maybe that will help drive it home for me that yes, I will soon be a mother of three.




  1. Everything’s gonna be OK.

    I am so excited for you!

  2. To be fair, the first part of pregnancy really IS boring. It’s hard to cherish morning sickness and looking faintly fatter.

    It’s when the baby starts getting big and can hear you that it gets interesting.

  3. Two words: maternity panties. I found some, along with some maternity pantyhose, in my drawer when my oldest was six. I couldn’t believe I had ever worn them. Of course, I gained 70 pounds and ate about twenty large meals a day. I’m also drinking wine right now so hopefully you don’t think this is a weird comment. But you know, maternity clothes.

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