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The first time I was pregnant I never complained. Or at least rarely did. I was so happy to be pregnant and growing a baby in my belly that I didn’t talk about the rest of it--the nausea, the hunger, the clothes suddenly not fitting that had just fit the day before. I knew I was in the midst of an easy pregnancy and it would be rude to grumble about the small difficulties.
This time around I can‘t keep it in. I am growing a baby in my belly--a beautiful gift from God that I dare not take for granted--but also a little munchkin who continually makes me feel out of sorts. And this girl has to do a little whining every once in a while.
First of all, I am tired of the battle for clothes. I bought an awesome knock-off of the Belly Band that let me wear my regular jeans for the first four and a half months or so. But none of my shirts were long enough to cover the Belly Band, so I had to constantly fidget and adjust and try to make sure nothing inappropriate was showing. About a month ago I moved on to the maternity jeans. The maternity jeans that don’t quite fit and never really will. I’m sure if I’d bought the adorable maternity jeans from GAP those might have fit, but the thought of spending $60 on jeans that I’ll only wear for five months hurt me. Now my maternity shirts are almost too small. I am only five and a half months pregnant. Why in the world would MATERNITY shirts be too short to cover a growing belly? Because people at the grocery store who are innocently minding their own business want to see my stretch-marked belly peeking out from under a shirt, that’s why.
I know that my belly is still relatively small. I am not even six months along yet. But I remember being eight months pregnant with G, sitting on the floor of a friend’s house, in desperate thirst for some water, but I could not get off the floor. Maneuvering my belly and arms and legs off the floor was too exhausting a thought, so I stayed on that floor, thirsty. Now when I have to shift my legs so that I can bend down to pull on a shoe I grumble, knowing my belly is not big now, but if I’m already working around it, how much more will I in three months?
And that concludes my complaining. Or my complaining to you, anyway. Sweet Hubby will still have to listen to me for a while longer.
The first time I was pregnant I never complained. Or at least rarely did. I was so happy to be pregnant and growing a baby in my belly that I didn’t talk about the rest of it--the nausea, the hunger, the clothes suddenly not fitting that had just fit the day before. I knew I was in the midst of an easy pregnancy and it would be rude to grumble about the small difficulties.
This time around I can‘t keep it in. I am growing a baby in my belly--a beautiful gift from God that I dare not take for granted--but also a little munchkin who continually makes me feel out of sorts. And this girl has to do a little whining every once in a while.
First of all, I am tired of the battle for clothes. I bought an awesome knock-off of the Belly Band that let me wear my regular jeans for the first four and a half months or so. But none of my shirts were long enough to cover the Belly Band, so I had to constantly fidget and adjust and try to make sure nothing inappropriate was showing. About a month ago I moved on to the maternity jeans. The maternity jeans that don’t quite fit and never really will. I’m sure if I’d bought the adorable maternity jeans from GAP those might have fit, but the thought of spending $60 on jeans that I’ll only wear for five months hurt me. Now my maternity shirts are almost too small. I am only five and a half months pregnant. Why in the world would MATERNITY shirts be too short to cover a growing belly? Because people at the grocery store who are innocently minding their own business want to see my stretch-marked belly peeking out from under a shirt, that’s why.
I know that my belly is still relatively small. I am not even six months along yet. But I remember being eight months pregnant with G, sitting on the floor of a friend’s house, in desperate thirst for some water, but I could not get off the floor. Maneuvering my belly and arms and legs off the floor was too exhausting a thought, so I stayed on that floor, thirsty. Now when I have to shift my legs so that I can bend down to pull on a shoe I grumble, knowing my belly is not big now, but if I’m already working around it, how much more will I in three months?
And that concludes my complaining. Or my complaining to you, anyway. Sweet Hubby will still have to listen to me for a while longer.
