It's really weird to completely measure your life in weeks but because I have approximately 86 pregnancy apps on my phone and every of our seemingly hundreds of doctor's appointments are constant reminders of how far along I am and that I am living week by week. Saturday marks 27 weeks of pregnancy and depending on who you ask, that may or may not be the third trimester. I feel like I spent the entire first trimester wishing my life away and until the sickness started to become more manageable around a month ago, I was counting every day, practically to the minute. I've found that the last month or so has flown by and here I am on the cusp of the third trimester when there were many times that I thought I'd never get here.
We're starting the month of February with a bang by painting Owen's room and next weekend we should have most of his furniture set up and ready (in case you were curious, dark blue walls with lots of bright colors and white furniture, with sock monkeys mixed in). Is that when it starts feeling really real? When you walk down the hall and see a baby's room set up next to yours? I know that there are feelings that are coming up for me with much higher frequency as each day passes, with each kick that shakes my whole belly, with every question they ask at my doctor's appointments (the other day it was: have you selected your pediatrician yet? um... oops. so now we have a consultation appointment). I hung up a bunch of his clothes as I was reorganizing the closets last week to prepare for the painting project and that was freaky. There's going to be a living, breathing little human filling those clothes in such a short time!
Only thirteen more weeks, three more months until his due date! How did this happen when I spent so much of my time guarding the time as it passed?
