I'm in third trimester. THIRD TRIMESTER. I never, ever thought I would get here.
My cute little bump is a little less "cute", a little less "little", and a lot more getting in the way of me bending over. Tying my shoes has turned into quite the feat, and I side-eye anything I drop with a look of hatred before begrudgingly bending to pick it up.
A few days ago, I had this wonderful moment when my mother in law and both sisters in law all put their hands on my bump to feel kicks and hiccups. The moment was only made sweeter when my 2 year old niece followed suite because she saw everyone else doing it. It was awesome.
I'm secretly terrified. I know a woman, an awesome lady, who recently went in to deliver at a very normal 38 weeks and 4 days, only to discover there was no heart beat. Her sweet little girl was stillborn. I have thought of this woman and her daughter every day since. It's shaken me, both in my deep feelings of empathy for her pain, but also because it shows you that nothing in this life is guaranteed. No mother should ever have to carry that weight. Yet it happens, even to the nicest of people.
Ignorance would certainly be bliss, but ignorance is no longer an option.
Seeing my Facebook memories from a year ago has not been helpful. I see the posts I made when I was in so much pain, and it's hard not to relive it. Sure, it's a reminder of how much (wonderful) difference a year can make, but it's also a reminder of some pretty dark days. My post from a year ago:
If you can't fly then run, if you can't run then walk, if you can't walk then crawl, but whatever you do you have to keep moving forward.
― Martin Luther King Jr.
At the time I felt I was barely moving through life. I suppose I fell into the crawling category - crawling up hill is what it felt like. But crawl I did.
It feels more like a run now (albeit a slow, waddling run). I only hope it feels like flying come 11 weeks from now.