A Girl Named PJ

Is it wrong to buy one of these adorable blabla dolls under the guise of giving to the baby when really I want to keep it for myself? These adorable dolls are hand knit in Peru and meet my newly discovered criteria for children’s toys: simple and slightly quirky.

 

 

I always vowed not to be one of those pregnant women who constantly complains about how fat she looks.

Before I was knocked up, it annoyed me when those with child moaned about their expanding girth. “You’re not fat! You’re pregnant!” I cried in response.

Maybe it was because I was jealous that they were pregnant and I wasn’t. They had something I wanted, so I didn’t want to hear them grumble about it. Plus, as a non-pregnant person, I couldn’t relate.

Oh, karma’s a bitch.

I won’t tell you how much I weigh because that’s none of your business. Truthfully, I don’t even know how many pounds I’ve packed on because I only step on the scale once a month at my doctor’s office. Plus, I’ve found that pregnant women are just as competitive about how much weight they’ve gained as skinny women are about how much they’ve lost, and I refuse to partake in that game.

I will tell you that my body shape is changing, and I’m not comfortable with it. Now I understand why pregnant women complain.

They don’t feel like themselves.

Around 10:30pm recently, I looked down at my feet and let out a wail.

“I have cankles!”

JB tried to assure me that my ankles were as slender as they’ve always been, but I didn’t believe him. When I stare at myself in the full length mirror, JB reminds me that I only look pregnant from the front because I’m also concerned that I’ve contracted a case of “mom ass.”

I think when you’re pregnant, your eyes play tricks on you. At least mine do.

{image by Loving Earth… because it’s ok if babies have cankles}

On Tuesday JB deployed for two months. He’s scheduled to return about six weeks before my due date. I don’t know if I was extra emotional because of all these crazy pregnancy hormones, but I spent the majority of the week in tears. This is not our first time apart, but I imagine it will be the hardest. Thankfully my mom was able to fly in before he left so that I’d have company for a couple of days.

Hopefully all of the tasks on my never-ending To Do list will keep me busy for the next 8 or so weeks. I have to make final decision on paint colors and furniture for the baby’s room, and I’ve been encouraged to create a registry.

One of my immediate goals is to learn how to crochet because there is a blanket I’d like to make for the our little guy. I’m sure he’ll be gifted plenty of knitted goodies, but I think it would be special if he had something handmade by me.

{self-portrait taken at 25 weeks, 4 days}

Turning 30 last year was hard for me.

I felt isolated. I was disappointed that I hadn’t had children yet when friends were getting pregnant and having babies and that I didn’t seem to be on any career path. When I was younger, I had imagined that by 30, I’d be, well, a grown up.  A grown up with a job and a family.

Turning 31 this week was a completely different experience.

I felt so loved. On my birthday, I was 24 weeks, 3 days pregnant and 2 weeks, 2 days into a new full-time job. Thirty might have gotten off to a rocky start, but it ended up being a pretty important year for me (although I still don’t feel like a grown up).

What a difference a year makes.

{self-portrait taken at 24 weeks, 3 days on my birthday}