At the 36-week mark of my last pregnancy, I was 4 centimeters dilated and almost completely effaced. This time… not so much.
People are especially friendly to pregnant women, leading to lots of conversations with strangers. I’ve had two enlightening conversations lately that have had me pondering them long after the talking was over.
An assortment of musings on pregnancy — from heartburn to gender prediction to Braxton-Hicks contractions — from a gal sporting a giant 35-weeks-pregnant belly.
I try not to complain about my lot in life too much. I made my bed, now I’ve got to lie in it. But every so often, a girl just needs to throw a little pity party. Welcome to mine.
We didn’t find out Peanut’s gender before she was born, and we don’t know Squeak’s either. Here’s why you should do the same.
The real “fun” of pregnancy comes in the third trimester, when your belly is always in the way and you can’t move around like you want. Suddenly everything gets harder. A lot harder. I couldn’t figure out why it was so difficult… until I had a lightbulb moment last week.
Being 32 weeks pregnant can seriously suck at times. But when I’m not wallowing in pregnancy self-pity, I’m dreading the day that this, my final pregnancy, comes to a close.
I wish Squeak could stay inside my belly forever. Because he (or she) is a lot easier to take care of now than a baby on the outside.
The advantage of being a second-time mom is that I have learned from (some) of my previous mistakes. Here’s my advice on what you should definitely have in that hospital bag.