An Open Letter To My Second Pregnancy: You're Not As Much Fun As The First
Dear Baby Number Two,
I’m pregnant for the second time around. And even though your dad and I had to work hard to make you happen, it seems to lack the excitement of my first pregnancy.
My first pregnancy was like the final scene in the movie ‘Trolls’ with happy dancing, cheerful music, bright colours and explosions of sparkles and rainbows. I admit I feel a bit guilty saying it, but this time around, I feel more like Oscar the Grouch.
Sort of like the first time your crush ever sent you flowers to work and you proudly displayed them on your desk grinning every time someone commented on them. Then by the time they delivered a fourth bouquet in a month you were suddenly over that kind of romantic “bliss” (I'll explain this when you're older, baby).
Again I feel guilty confessing to it and I hope that I am not alone.
During my first pregnancy, with your sister, I was a crazy woman. A good friend of mine gave me a pregnancy journal and every week I would write in it; my cravings, my mood, my activity level, what I was feeling, my weight gain, you name it! It seems every little tidbit was covered and I religiously wrote in it week after week, right up until the day of my delivery.
My entries would say things like, “Today the doctor said I gained half a pound, Yippee! I can’t wait for my bump to start showing.”
If I had to write an entry this time around it would probably be more like this: “I’ve noticed that my pants are becoming difficult to zip up, but I’m not sure if that’s the baby growing or the half a box of leftover Halloween candy I consumed this week.”
Another entry from my first pregnancy went like this: “Today, Daddy and I sat on the couch and watched you move around in my belly. When Daddy put his hand on my tummy you kicked and punched so much, my whole tummy moved. We were both brought to tears seeing how active you were in there. It all feels so real now.”
This time it’s more like, “What did I eat for lunch? This gas is killing me.”
The first time around I stuck to eating a ‘balanced, healthy diet’. This time around I can’t get enough Dairy Queen Blizzards, and bagels with cream cheese have become my go-to.
I remember taking so many bump pictures each week to track my growth and see how big your sister was getting; from the size of a pea to the size of a grapefruit. But this time I haven’t snapped a single belly pic and I base your size solely on how out of breath I feel.
The first time I loved every moment. I followed along daily in my ‘What To Expect’ book and read up on what changes my body and the baby were making each day. This time around, I’m reading romance novels, knowing that when you arrive, reading before bed will be a thing of the past.
The first time, the countdown was on. If asked, I could quickly recite my due date and what week I was in down to the day. “I’m 28 weeks and 3 days,” I’d proudly proclaim. This time, when the nurse weighs me in at each visit and asks what week I’m at, I have stop and think about it...and sometimes I just guess.
My husband and I used to read to the baby in vitro each night and play classical music to it. Proudly holding headphones up to my belly and grinning brightly as the baby would kick along.
This time the only things you hear are my conversations with friends and the occasional song that I will belt out in the car when I think no one is listening.
I love it when people say that pregnancy looks good on me and I’m glowing because, to be honest, the truth is that I feel big and tired and sore and I just can’t wait to be done with being pregnant.
No journal entries, no weekly bump photos or charts recording your movements. I seriously cannot WAIT to meet you, but on pregnancy number two I say good riddance to this nine-month transformation!
See you on the flip side kid,