Some days, I’m still trying to figure out how I got here. (Again, I know how. But, really, how?!) And as I’m sitting here, stupefied, puzzling over my pregnant pickle, Julia takes Charlie’s hand and walks over to the window with him to show him the red cardinal sitting in our tree. Charlie’s waving and yelling: “Hi Buwdie!” the sunlight bouncing off his blonde curls. Then, they’re both waving. And they’re giggling. And they look so sweet, standing there, holding hands, looking out at the world together, that I know for sure how and why I got myself into this pregnant pickle.
This time, the third time, I’m going into a pregnancy with my eyes wide open. I know what to expect. I’ve done this before. Twice. And while I have less time to navel gaze over my growing belly, I somehow feel more in touch with this pregnancy than the other two. I’m focusing less on the changes my body’s going through, and more on what the ultimate outcome is going to be.
Maybe the third time around, I’m feeling like I can approach this as someone who’s older and wiser. More experienced? More sure of herself? More sure of what I’m doing? Maybe. (Maybe not.) If nothing else, I’ve been able to trust my instincts more this time around. I’m learning to trust that my body knows what it’s doing. I’m learning to listen to my body. And even if that means caving to my junk food cravings, or giving myself permission to slow down when I maybe really can’t afford to, then, oh well. It’s not the end of the world. Life goes on. I’m living proof of that.
Join Fit Pregnancy.com's Managing Editor Dana Rousmaniere each week as she blogs about her third pregnancy.