We’re 130 days in. Up 1.5 pounds [but somehow dropped 6 in the first trimester, so arguably up 7.5 pounds]. The belly has popped out, but the button maintains its “innie” character thus far. There are approximately 152 days to go, depending on when the little one makes his or her appearance. Number of individual-sized sour watermelon candy packages consumed: 3 (equaling a 300% increase over the past decade). Percentage of time since February with ice cream in the freezer: 100%, usually with a spare (another feat previously unaccomplished in the past decade). Amount of time I’ve spent lamenting the fact that I can safely consume neither unheated prosciutto nor delicious red wine: too much to admit here. Amount of times J has asked me what he can to make me more comfortable or happier: countless, thankfully and with gratitude from me.
Truth be told, we planned this journey for many years. In our college days, we agreed that our late 20s would be the right time for baby-making. We recently took our last-hurrah trip to Mexico to ring in the New Year, during which we engaged in much drinking/adventuring/relaxing/taking baby-inappropriate risks (such as eating delicious tacos from dirty street carts and navigating the Pacific Ocean via an over-packed dingy sans-life jackets in a gnarly rain storm). In accordance with our plan, our pregnancy officially commenced 2 weeks after we returned home from Mexico. The one negative pregnancy test we took was much harder on me than I expected it to be. It made me more empathetic for the people who want it so badly and can’t make it happen on their preferred timeline. It also made me exceptionally grateful when our timeline somehow worked out precisely how we hoped it would. There was effort, without doubt, but there was also luck and happenstance and maybe some other force that I cannot articulate or understand.
It’s a strange thing to plan to make a baby, to have the plan come to fruition (!) and to know exactly what’s coming next (because, true to character, we’ve read every pregnancy book we can get our hands on), yet still feeling completely and utterly without control over the process. I suppose its good practice for having a demanding newborn, then rambunctious toddler, then precocious (I assume) kid, then awkward preteen, then hopefully not maladjusted teenager, then college wanderer and world explorer (I hope), then independent 20-something with a plan and a penchant for making the most of opportunities (I really hope)….and on and on. J and I have always had a plan and we probably always will. The funny thing with our latest plan—the baby plan—is now that it’s in action, we will have to learn to sit back and let the path make itself known. Wish us luck letting go of control. We’ll need it!