I keep trying to write something tonight. Something meaningful. But I’m tired and I have a headache and it was kind of a rough day, for a lot of reasons.
And all I want to write about, or better said, all that seems to want to spew from my fingers is a rant about my partner. But that doesn’t seem right or fair, so I’m not going to do it.
There are other things I could write about. Many other things I want to write about; I have a list of ideas in the notebook app on my phone! But none of them seem to want to be written about tonight. And I suppose that is just as well.
It’s funny that I choose this month to try to write every day, when very few others are writing and even fewer are commenting. I should have picked a different month, not one entrenched fully in the doldrums of the summer blogging slow down.
I have other things I should be writing too. I signed myself up to contribute an article on Surviving Secondary Infertility for ggmg magazine. Next month’s theme is survival and I felt an article on SIF would fit well. Plus, in a city where many mothers wait until their mid-30’s to even start thinking about having kids, it would surely have an audience. Obviously I want to do a good job of it, I think the subject is really important and I want to treat it with the seriousness it deserves. My final draft is due next Monday and I don’t have a damn thing written down. I’ve barely started the outline. Blerg. I know I’ll get it done, but when and how is currently eluding me.
Well, I clearly have nothing to say and yet I’m here, attempting to say it. I’m not quite sure why. I’m just feeling kind of meh today, frustrated by the little things, anxious about some of the bigger ones.
There is some good news to share. Tomorrow I’m officially 24 weeks (26 weeks adjusted for baby’s giant stature), which means I’m out of the “danger” zone for when my mother lost her boys. It feels nice to be out of that stressful space, where I can have a bit more faith that this pregnancy might result in a real live baby boy. I know I’m not anywhere near out of the woods yet, but it feels good to know that I’ve gotten this far and baby boy still seems to be doing okay.
I have an OB appointment next Monday and I’m anxious to see how much weight I’ve gained. My grandmother’s hospital scale (one of those ones where you need to move over the metal weights and balance the bar) said I was 166 before I left St. Louis but then my parents’ scale said I was 172 last night. Who knows what judgement Kaiser’s scale will dole out. I guess I’m going to just hope for a four pound weight gain and assume it’s closer to six pounds again. It seems clear I won’t achieve my weight gain goal and I’m trying to come to terms with that. I managed the final trimester of a pregnancy after gaining 55+ pounds before, I guess I can do it again.
The one thing I have going for me is that all the gardening and walking makes me feel strong, which I never felt during my first pregnancy. I hope I can keep up all this physical activity so that even if I am gaining faster than I want, I’ll still feel strong in my body until this baby comes.
It seems strange to say that, but I suppose I need to start thinking that way. This baby will mostly likely come and we’re going to have to be ready. I’m realizing every day that the prospect of a second child kind of terrifies me and I have real fears that Mi.Vida won’t be able to manage. But all that is for another post.