This week, I've reached a milestone: I'm starting my 3rd trimester.
I have twelve weeks to go - and that thought honestly scares me a bit. I feel like this pregnancy has flashed by so quickly, I'm not sure where the other weeks have gone. But every day, I feel a bit heavier, and this little boy's kicks get stronger. I'm still wrapping my mind around the idea that there's actually a tiny human inside me and my enlarging stomach isn't just some kind of medical condition. It still feels amazing that God has actually given us a child.
Overall, it's been an uneventful, unexciting pregnancy - and I'm so thankful for that. I feel like I fit the pregnant-woman-stereotype almost perfectly - yes I get more tired, yes I'm hungry all the time, no I don't feel like driving anywhere more than two hours just for fun. I try to exercise at least 30 minutes most days (one of my December goals), and that helps me sleep better and feel less tense from carrying a basketball around under my belly button. The weather has turned into cool season, with temperatures in a comfortable range of 70-85 degrees every day, and I can't even begin to tell you what a relief that is.
But I have to admit - pregnancy is humbling. I'm actually glad when people don't let me carry heavy things or crawl into the back seat of a Land Rover, or when I can collapse on the couch and snooze, knowing my husband will take over and make dinner for us. I have always been one to insist, I can do it myself! and been driven to prove people wrong who doubted my abilities. But being pregnant, honestly, just makes me tired. I can't do it all, and while my body is doing things amazing things I never realized possible, the most creative thing a woman can do, I find that my physical limits have shifted. I have to admit I can't do it all AND grow a baby. I have to ask for help. And rest more. And it's ok and doesn't make me any less of a person - which is a huge lesson for this chronic overachiever.