I'm pregnant.
I'm already seventeen weeks along, for Pete's sake. This pregnancy has been so subtle compared to Peter's. I had painstakingly waited for everything to do with my first pregnancy. After two rounds of Clomid--I took a pregnancy test the day before my missed period to discover I was pregnant. This time around, I was still shrugging it off when I was over a week late. It wasn't until nausea set in that I broke down and bought a test.
It feels like a miracle, really. I didn't even have to think about it.
Remember how I couldn't picture a baby girl when I was pregnant with Peter? I could only see a little boy? Well... the same thing is happening on this one. Only this time, I can't imagine a boy. That must mean something, right? Why can't I picture a boy when I've already had a boy? Don't get me wrong. I would be thrilled to have a boy. I always love it when the first two are the same sex in families for some reason. I just see a girl. And the thought is thrilling.
This time 'round has been seriously different too. Different symptoms. Nausea the first trimester, but able to keep most things down except for the occasional time that pushed me over the edge. Different levels of energy and emotions. Just... different.
Also, I would love to contrive a pill that simulates my second trimester without the being pregnant part. My confidence rises, my hormones seem to balance out and I have this overall peace that makes everything in life feel pretty easy to manage. Darn those hormones and emotions. Always getting in the way of good days.
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