Well, this photo represents how Ward and I have both been doing for the past few months.
I bemoaned my pregnancy with Ward a lot, and I honestly thought I'd be happier this time around since it took us longer to conceive, but I majorly underestimated the physical and emotional toll this one would take on me. For some reason, this pregnancy has been life-alteringly bad. I have a new, terrible personality. I'm sad, weird, and just generally miserable despite having the same large group of happy, fun people around me. I find joy in about 5% of the things I used to. And physically, things are rough: I still have to eat constantly to keep from vomiting, which means I'm consuming a huge amount of calories daily (and not even enjoying it), and because of that I've gained thirty pounds and have far outgrown my maternity clothes despite having a due date that is still two months out. I have to walk slowly and with a huge waddle due to grinding pelvic bone problems, I can't sleep for more than three hours at a time, and I can hardly turn over in bed without help. I'm sad, I'm fat, I breath like a bulldog, and my boobs are like huge, sore, disgusting flesh cantaloupes (not even embarrassed to say that, it's not like everyone hasn't noticed anyway.) But worst of all, I can't be the active, happy mom I want to be for my incredible, fun little Wardy boy. He wants me so badly to do things like hold him, chase him, and dance with him, none of which I can easily do because I'm achy, fat, and sluggish. I hate it so much.
People ask to help me constantly, but it's not a matter of feeling overwhelmed for me. It's just a matter of feeling...like a shell of myself. A fat shell of myself. This all despite having a huge support system of loving friends and family (including Sloan) who readily assist me and are always there to commiserate with me, too.
Don't get me wrong, I know it will pass. I'll have the baby and while I will still be fat and sweaty and exhausted for a year or so, at least I'll be more mobile and less nauseated. But feeling this way for forty weeks is something I don't suffer gracefully.