I am heavier to start than I have ever been. Granted, I am the most active I have ever been, so I feel healthy, but I worry about the inevitable weight gain and where it will leave me once I pop the kid out.
The fact that I am sicker than I have ever been with at least 5 more weeks of sickness to go.
Knowing that this is 100% certainly my last pregnancy, and trying to enjoy it and not wish it away.
That this child, who will be so far apart in age from the rest of the kids, will not have an ally.
That between the baby and Hannah, I will never sleep again. Ever.
That I’m going to get stares and snide comments about being pregnant again and having 4 kids.
I feel genuinely bad that it is so easy for me to get pregnant when so many others struggle–to the point that I’m afraid to talk about it–I don’t want to offend. I am not smug about it, I promise. And I wish I could pass my fertility on to someone else now that I’m done with it.
I hope my kids won’t hate me for being mean, and feeding them chicken nuggets and cereal for dinner almost every night.
It really makes me sad that Hannie will no longer be my baby. And I worry that she’ll be sad about it too and have a hard time adjusting.
Our house is way too small to hold 4 small people, which leads to more remodeling. Do you remember the big kitchen remodel of Hannah’s pregnancy? Kill me now.