Well, it’s official: I’m in the THIRD TRIMESTER! Hollaaaaa.
Man, this one is seriously flying by. Doesn’t it feel like I just announced it? I feel like I always compare my two pregnancies, but I can’t help it because they’ve just been so completely different!
My hair seems to be in a little better shape this time, but my skin is worse. The weight gain is a little on the lower side with this baby, but maybe that’s because I’m not craving FREAKING CAKE FROSTING OUT OF THE JAR like I was last time. (I’m not exaggerating.)
And the body differences… oooooh, the body differences. My hips and butt aren’t widening as much as they were with Maddie, but each of my boobs have pretty much exploded to the size of my head. And I have a big head, let me tell you. In high school, some teacher brought in a tape measure so we could measure our heads for graduation caps. Well I had to keep my little paper hidden until it was time to turn them in because my measurement was like an inch larger than all the boys’. Even a kid named Odias had a smaller head than me. Doesn’t Odias seem like a macho, big headed-person’s name? That’s what I thought too. Morgan is apparently more macho.
(Is this painting you a nice enough picture yet? My boobs are huge.)
One day when I know for sure there are no males around here listening, I’ll tell you about nips. That’s where all this stuff stops being funny and starts getting REAL.
Half the pregnancy updates I read say the third trimester starts this week and the rest say next week… but let’s just ignore that last half and make me a happy girl — I’m in the third trimester! What’s jumping ahead a week going to hurt, right? Right.
Friends, this is a terribly sad day in the life of the girl you see above. That smile? It was forced and completely insincere. The apocalypse is upon us… I have my first stretch mark.
It’s actually really light and small, on my lower belly… BUT IT’S STILL THERE! And oh, how it taunts me.
The little devil reared it’s ugly, squiggly head last night. As soon as I noticed it, I let out a very loud and panicked “NOOOOOOOOO!” and ran straight to the bathroom cabinet where I kept the unused tube of stretch mark lotion. I was determined never to need it, but let me tell you something… I don’t care if it works or not, this stuff is my only hope. I slathered it on like nobody’s business, saying a silent prayer and shedding one, glistening tear while doing so, no less than 3 times today already.
I am so not the “embrace your beautiful new pregnant body because you’re creating a miracle” type. I loved my cute, flat stomach and will be mourning it’s death until the magic of breastfeeding and Pilates bring it back to me. Amen and amen.