8 Weeks

So, here I am. 2 months pregnant. 1 month to go in this trimester and 27 days away from hearing the heartbeat of the little kidney bean growing inside me. One thing I like about one of the baby books I bought (Your Pregnancy Week by Week or something) is that at the beginning of each chapter it tells you how big the baby is. For some reason they always compare the size to a food - ironically a food I don't like. I've gone from a lentil to a kidney bean and in about a month I'll have a green olive frolicking inside of me.

This morning I was thinking about how I would answer the question, "How do you like being pregnant?". Truth be told I think I would like it better the second time around. This pregnancy - obviously my first - has been nerve racking. I just don't know what to expect next. I go from not feeling any physical changes to all of a sudden being overwhelmed with tiredness or nausea. I have a hard time enjoying the "now" and always wish of the "later". I want to be 5 months pregnant instead of 2 months. Owen says that I never enjoy the day, that I always have to have something to look forward to. I don't want to be that way. I want to enjoy the now of the pregnancy instead of focusing on what's coming next. Hormones - gotta love them.

Yesterday at lunch I went to a maternity store with Lee Ann (AKA 3 weeks more pregnant than me). The styles go from "bigger regular clothes" to "come and knock on my door" patterns that you would never see at a non-pregnancy store. It's like once you're pregnant you can decide to dress like a completely different person, wearing chevron stripes and polyester stretch pants. There are pregnancy bras, tights, pajamas - even thongs. Like at 8 months pregnant I'm going to be worried about panty lines. Who knows? This pregnancy might bring out my inner hooch and I'll be showing up to work in fishnet stockings and a plunging neckline.

Re-reading this post it is pretty apparent that I am all over the place today. That can be attributed to the fact that my neighbour decided to have his own little dance party last night around 11:30. I finally gave up on our bed and went to sleep in the bunkbed room. I shouldn't really complain about buddy next door seeing as 95% of the time he's not even home but he listens to the beginning of a song and that's it. And then he plays the beginning again...."kiss an angel good morning"...pause..."kiss an angel good morning"....pause..."kiss an angel good morning". Owen says that he plays in a band (side note - Owen has met everyone in the neighbourhood - Harold from Conception Bay, Bill the handicapped guy down the street who wanted to take one of our front yard flowers for his mother, Old Guy across the street who walks his cat on a leash. For someone who hates people as much as he claims to Owen certainly is chatty) and that he's probably trying to learn the words. Either way it gets really old, really fast.

How I'm Feeling: Comme ci, comme ca