seven months
Shoes: Uxibal, Jeans: Target, Top: c/o Anthom, Sunglasses: ASOS
The thing with hitting the seven month mark during my first pregnancy, is that by the time I got there, it felt as if I could have very well been pregnant for seven years already. A long three years of slogging through my last semester in college, including one mortifying episode of throwing up in a neighbor's yard. Another long three years of what I would call the golden age of everything, where food tastes delicious again and the sex is great, etc. And at the end of that golden age, I met what felt like year seven, when the Costco sized tub of tums began joining me for every meal and I felt that very first swift kick under my ribs from the growing boy in my belly. And it is at this point that I looked at myself in the mirror and thought, "wow. I'm going to get bigger than THIS?" and it's this almost hilarious, yet unfathomable miracle. For this second pregnancy, I blinked. And here we are at seven months! The Costco sized tub of tums showing up next to my dinner plate riiiiiight on time, along side its partner, the deluxe edition body pillow, which defies the laws of sleeping in a queen sized bed on the daily. I am happy to be here at these seven months. Happy and thankful and amazed at what my body is doing right now. I've been delighted to discover that those moments when she's turning and kicking and bumping around inside me feel just as precious and personal and private as they did the first time around. You know, cause of course they felt that way with Everett, my sweetest first born. But with a toddler running around this time, I've had much less time to count the weeks and track the numbers and just pay attention to my body in general. Until she moves. And nothing REALLY changes or stops in its place. But everyone around me continues on with what they are doing, unaware that I am getting to secretly memorize everything about this tiny girl. Her elbows and toes and the roundness of her back shifting under my own roundness while we share this space together. And in those moments, it feels like it's just us. I hope she can hear her big brother praying for her before he goes to bed. And I hope she likes her name that he sings out cadence style while marching around the house. And I hope that she can feel how happy we are that she is coming to our family. Because one more blink, and that day is here.
The thing with hitting the seven month mark during my first pregnancy, is that by the time I got there, it felt as if I could have very well been pregnant for seven years already. A long three years of slogging through my last semester in college, including one mortifying episode of throwing up in a neighbor's yard. Another long three years of what I would call the golden age of everything, where food tastes delicious again and the sex is great, etc. And at the end of that golden age, I met what felt like year seven, when the Costco sized tub of tums began joining me for every meal and I felt that very first swift kick under my ribs from the growing boy in my belly. And it is at this point that I looked at myself in the mirror and thought, "wow. I'm going to get bigger than THIS?" and it's this almost hilarious, yet unfathomable miracle. For this second pregnancy, I blinked. And here we are at seven months! The Costco sized tub of tums showing up next to my dinner plate riiiiiight on time, along side its partner, the deluxe edition body pillow, which defies the laws of sleeping in a queen sized bed on the daily. I am happy to be here at these seven months. Happy and thankful and amazed at what my body is doing right now. I've been delighted to discover that those moments when she's turning and kicking and bumping around inside me feel just as precious and personal and private as they did the first time around. You know, cause of course they felt that way with Everett, my sweetest first born. But with a toddler running around this time, I've had much less time to count the weeks and track the numbers and just pay attention to my body in general. Until she moves. And nothing REALLY changes or stops in its place. But everyone around me continues on with what they are doing, unaware that I am getting to secretly memorize everything about this tiny girl. Her elbows and toes and the roundness of her back shifting under my own roundness while we share this space together. And in those moments, it feels like it's just us. I hope she can hear her big brother praying for her before he goes to bed. And I hope she likes her name that he sings out cadence style while marching around the house. And I hope that she can feel how happy we are that she is coming to our family. Because one more blink, and that day is here.
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