Final trimester, over here people. Which is so weird, because I keep forgetting how many weeks along I am. But then I’m like OMG I’VE BEEN PREGNANT SINCE SUMMER. And then I’m like OMG I HAVE THREE MORE MONTHS.

I guess that’s probably the most succinct description of pregnancy for everyone, everywhere, all the time. It’s long and monumental. But you lose whole days and weeks. Idk.

I expected this one to be easier. I’m not sure why. When you do things more I guess you assume you’ll get better at them. Certainly I know better what to expect. I don’t spend a fraction of the time reading pregnancy books and googling stuff and scouring pregnancy apps. I don’t need the OB to explain nonstress tests and gestational diabetes and kick counts. I have my favorite belly butter (this one) and proactive heartburn doses.

I expected this one to be easier. *Ron Howard Narrator Voice* It is not easier.

Do I have that famed pregnancy amnesia that tricks us into having more babies after trauma? Maybe it was this hard, day to day, both of those times before and I just remember enough of the good stuff.

Is it that I’m 30 and my body has started to fall apart? That’s kind of a joke but also kind of not. When Ryan turned 30 he had a whole slew of health problems cascade down on us so we started joking that once you turn 30 your body falls apart like an old-model iPhone. What a sad prospect, since it’s nowhere near the mid- or post-mid-point of your lifetime. But maybe it just is that my body has to find a new balance of energy and tolerance and resiliency as I lose the sponginess of growing youth. Seems rude since I’m literally growing a youth.

Is it that my body has done this three times now, so the abs don’t even try to work anymore? The pelvic floor laughs at my weak Kegel attempts? My poor pelvis has endured so much already that it just lets the relaxin completely dissolve the teamwork between joints? My milk ducts are like “Oh cool we remember this” and started spitting out colostrum early to save time??? (that’s really happening. Sorry everyone.)

Is it that I’m chasing two kids? And one of them is a raccoon this time?

Is it that I needed the wake up call that this could be my last one and that’s ok?

Is this kid gonna give me a run for my money both inside and outside me?

Am I just a whiny dramatic complainer? Well ya that we already knew.

This started with the simple question I get from so many people – “How are you feeling???”

I smile and pat my belly and give some variation of “Great!” and “Pregnant!” and “Gettin there!” or some nonsense. No one likes to hear a pregnant woman complain, and it makes me feel selfish and undeserving when I have so many loved ones who would love to be pregnant.

The reality is that this one is just hard. Harder. My symphysis pubis dysfunction has been off the rails this pregnancy, meaning I was waddling and limping by 18 weeks and had to see a specialist. Restless leg gave me an entire sleepless week that threatened to destroy me in November. Heartburn came in hot, pun intended. Sciatic pain made comfort feel unattainable. At one point in December I was drinking 80 oz of water a day and still feeling dehydrated (but it isn’t gestational diabetes??? idk). I’ve had more Braxton-Hicks with this baby than with both of my girls combined. It feels constant.

Me and my girls have been sick so much that even when my pelvis and sleep were cooperating I couldn’t use that energy to DO anything. I take a legion of pills every morning and night, have careful routines, work hard at prevention of symptoms, and spend a lot of time looking at newborn size jammies that I’ve folded into the top drawer of the new dresser to alleviate the negativity.

Because I don’t want this pregnancy to be defined by how hard it is. I don’t want to remember the physical and emotional toll. I don’t want all the stress and pain and difficulty of this pregnancy to get in the way of me connecting with this gift of an infant. It kind of has to this point and I’m disappointed in myself for that.

I’m trying harder to connect with her each day. I meditate on the memory of a newborn smell in the crook of a wrinkly little neck. I marvel at tiny newborn diapers. I push on her kicks to say “Hi there.” I talk to her. I practice using “soft hands” with Loney and teaching Reese about breastfeeding and formula. I’m keeping a nightly gratitude and affirmation journal, to consciously counteract the barrage of negativity that could consume me each day.

Because she deserves better from me. Because three months is still a long time. Because three months is enough time to rewire and refocus, even if it gets harder. Because enthusiasm is contagious and can be manufactured. Because spring will come, and with it a whole new stage of life.

Because I want this third time to have some charm to outshine the harm.