Complaining...it's my right.

So I don't exactly post prolifically these days, do I. I admit, I have gotten out of the habit a bit.

In my defense, in the past 2 weeks we have experienced prolonged drama relating to conflicting opinions about a family wedding, extremely poor mental and physical heath in one of my close relatives, and the loss of an elderly relative on my husband's side.

No one knows I am pregnant. So pile on the stress, people. Unload your problems at my doorstep. Don't worry about me - what could I possibly have on my plate that might be a little more pressing to me than, say, a flowergirl's basket??? (sarcasm is my weapon)

My eye has been twitching for 2 weeks. I have been spending much quality time in the bathroom with my IBS symptoms. I cry at the drop of a hat (or during footage of the English defending their homeland during WWII). Hmmm?? Any correlation? Am I feeling a little stressed???

I only have one pair of track shorts that fit, which I wear daily with my husband's t-shirts. I look terrible. My skin is breaking out and I have needed a decent haircut for a month. I am tired and I feel nauseous every day (though not all day anymore, thank god). I have only gained 2 pounds, which makes me happy (I am very slightly overweight) and scared (average 1st tri weight gain 3-5 pounds) all at the same time.

My mind cannot handle the concept of the time between now and Baby. In fact, my mind cannot handle the concept of Baby. I feel as though I have a medical condition that I am managing, not that I am preparing to bring my second-born living and kicking into this world. Is that even possible? I am not despairing of the possibility, I just cannot comprehend it. It is a concept that is too good to be true.

I have even contemplated the idea that I am just not that interested in kids anymore. Maybe that is just not my lot in life. Which makes me realize that I am shutting off from the idea of this pregnancy in ways that I am not totally cognizant of. Because, if you asked anyone who has ever known me, there is no one in the world that is more of a kid person than me.

I guess it is somewhat futile to question it all. I know why I cannot believe it. Because my only experience with pregnancy and childbirth ended tragically. And most of the people that I talk with on a regular basis have had at least one similar experience. For me, loss is the norm. But as I look around and see the rest of the world, I am shocked to discover that baby's safe arrival is truly the norm.

Is it like anorexia? Where these people have such a warped perspective of body image that they cannot see that they are living skeletons? Because I have a negative experience with bringing a child into this world, I will always have that as the benchmark of "normal". Will that image change with time or a live birth?

Maybe things with become more real when more people know. Or when I hear a heartbeat. Or when I feel movement. Or when they set the epidural.

Only 207 days to go.