I’m officially done with pregnancy. In fact, I was over it long before that fateful plus sign appeared on my test. This is my third pregnancy in just over three years, and it feels like I’ve been pregnant for an eternity.
While some people thrive during pregnancy, that’s not me. If I hear one more person tell me to “enjoy it,” I might just give them a withering glare. How exactly does one enjoy being pregnant? Your body is no longer your own, and the fun of life is replaced by an endless list of restrictions.
Alcohol? Absolutely not. Sushi? Forget it. Caffeine? Moderation only. Fish? Only certain types in limited quantities. And don’t even get me started on the medications we can’t take. The list is exhaustive.
On top of that, I’m chasing after two toddlers, which leaves little room for any enjoyment of this experience.
First Pregnancy
It was all so new and thrilling. Everyone showered me with attention, offering compliments and insisting I was glowing. Naps were mandatory, and no one let me do anything. I was glued to pregnancy tracker apps, meticulously monitoring each week and comparing my baby to various fruits. I was in my own little bubble.
Second Pregnancy
People still cared, but the excitement was definitely dialed down. Help was offered here and there, but it wasn’t as plentiful. Juggling my firstborn with the new pregnancy made things more hectic, and I found myself popping out sooner than before. The initial thrill quickly faded into sheer exhaustion.
Third Pregnancy
Where did everyone go? It’s as if family and friends have vanished. I could really use some help right now, but the offers have dried up completely. With two little ones to care for, there’s no time left for me, let alone a nap. I just have to keep moving forward.
When someone asks how far along I am, I often have to pause and think. I do remember my due date, though; that’s something. I feel like I’m showing the moment I think about being pregnant, and my bladder? Completely out of control. Sneezing, laughing, or even just standing up can result in an accident.
Not Caring Anymore
As I near the end of my third trimester, I’m beyond the point of caring what I look like. If it fits, I’ll wear it—plaid and polka dots, why not? Flip-flops are my go-to since they require no effort. Comfort takes precedence, and I’ve probably been in the same outfit for days. Who has time to worry about social norms when you’re this far along?
My hair? It’s been in a messy bun for so long, it’s practically a trademark at this point. I might regret not putting in more effort when I look back, but right now? I don’t care.
Too Big for Everything
I feel too big for clothes, too big to be comfortable, too big to function normally. Bending over? That’s a strategic decision now. If I drop something, I consider whether it’s worth the effort to pick it up. If it’s not crucial, it might stay there until one of my kids or my husband can help.
When I do find myself on the floor, I’ve learned to make the most of it. We can read, color, or do puzzles right there. I can even pretend to chase my kids while barely moving. Lazy parenting? I prefer to think of it as resourceful.
Almost There
Despite my complaints, I feel incredibly blessed. I’m about to welcome my third child, and I couldn’t be happier. Still, I can’t deny my excitement at the thought of this baby finally making their entrance. I’ll get my body back, and I’ll also reunite with my old friend—wine.
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Summary
The third pregnancy is a unique challenge, filled with exhaustion, less attention from others, and a feeling of being overwhelmed. As I balance caring for two toddlers while managing my own pregnancy, I find myself prioritizing comfort over appearance. Nevertheless, I recognize the blessings that come with bringing another child into the world, even as I eagerly anticipate reclaiming my body and enjoying a glass of wine again.