So I am finding myself with a free uninterrupted moment this morning. The calm before the giant storm of a weekend. I sit here feeling like I owe an explanation of what is swirling around in my head over a bowl of Cheerios and a show streaming on Hulu.
Here we go!
Taking a toddler to your first OB appointment on your own is a terrible thing. They will knock over your pee cup while in the bathroom, not tear away your paper skirt while sitting on your lap, and they will never try pulling anything and everything out of the cabinets. And that sucker you were able to obtain to keep them content while having 7 vials of blood sucked away will undoubtedly find every clump of human hair on the floor under your waiting room chair.
I am finding myself not liking the toddler stage in my daughter right now. This could be all the hormones talking, but all the cute things she does are more so obnoxiousness. Where did all those warm fuzzy feelings go of looking forward to coming home from work to hug and cuddle or find each expression to be treasured? You could almost say I am just tolerating her at the moment, holding up my end of the responsibility of parenthood. People must think I am crazy to not be in love with a cute, wonderful little girl. Is it possible to have postpartum depression in between children?
This first trimester is feeling much harder than the last go around. Waves of nausea hit me through each day. Waves of tired slumps keep crashing over when naps are not possible. Bloating makes me feel like breaking out the maternity clothes would be a crime and a tragedy at not yet even 7 weeks. If I had to guess the sex of this baby, it would have to be a boy. Salty things just seem to hit the spot more so than the sweet did than in my last pregnancy.