This week I’m 32 weeks pregnant.

I feel less fat this week than I did a few weeks back and instead I just feel . . . tight. The skin on my stomach is stretched thin, my thighs are plumped full (of what I don’t know — lard, I guess?), and my ankles are just plain puffy. And I know I said the same thing last time, but seriously I don’t know that my skin can stretch much further.

Girth-wise, I feel much smaller than I did when I was carrying Boo. Basically, it feels like I’m carrying this baby a bit lower which has been great for my breathing but awful for my aching pelvis. Last time, I was popping Tums like they were going out of style and sleeping upright on the couch to avoid heartburn. This time, I’ve only slept alone once. (Although I am growing increasingly less patient with getting kicked in the gut every night by a restless toddler and, soon here, I may just choose to sleep on the couch in order to get a few solid, peaceful hours of sleep.)

Perhaps confirming that indeed I am carrying lower, a few weeks ago my belly button popped. My belly button never popped with Boo — it definitely flattened out, almost to the point of non-existence but never actually popped. This time around, I can play with my new-fangled outtie through my shirt. Bonus! Or is it just that my body is less taught this time and everything is more south? And west. And east. I dunno.

With eight weeks left until my ‘guess’ date, I’m in that weird place of feeling that I have plenty of time to prepare and totally anxious that the baby will be here before we know it. I’m just over halfway through my Hypnobabies classes, I’ve sorted through (but not washed) all of Boo’s old clothes, I’ve started to plan how we’re going to arrange the house to include another human, and I’ve started a list of the things that we’ll need for the birth and for the baby. And then this evening a woman’s water broke from an online due date group I frequent(ly lurk) and, for a moment, I freaked. I’M NOT READY! I HAVEN’T EVEN WASHED THE BABY CLOTHES! OR BOUGHT THE SWING! WHERE WILL I PUT THE BABY WHEN MY TODDLER NEEDS ME?!? WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO?!?!? And then a moment of peace came over me and I thought of this kid, and Boo, and this kid and Boo together and I realized I’m about as ready as I’ll ever be.

This week marks my gallant entry into the third trimester. At 29 weeks pregnant I’m simply feeling: FAT. I don’t fit into any of my pre-pregnancy clothes and my maternity clothes just feel wrong. I remember having these similar feelings last time around but then everything — the feelings, the clothes, the comments from others — was still so new and (mostly) exciting. This time, though, I just want to throw on my thread-bare yoga pants and be left alone to duplicate in comfort.

The baby is moving quite a bit now and has already gotten to the point where I can make out what parts are trying to bust right out of my stomach. And just like its sister, this one gets the hiccups multiple times a day.

We have started talking to Boo about the new baby — forcing asking her “where’s the baby?” and whether she is going to help mommy with the baby (heh?). She knows that she is to point to my stomach when asked where the baby is but short of realizing that she doesn’t fit on my lap as well as she used to she is still much too young to realize that her life is soon to be turned totally upside down. For a while.

We have one more monthly appointment with the midwives next week before we start going every two weeks. So far, I have been more than satisfied with our prenatal care. Most of the appointments, up until this point, have consisted of going over my diet (ugh) and exercise (uh huh) and listening to the baby’s heartbeat. They ask how I’ve been feeling, they listen to my concerns, and they offer genuine advice. There has not been any feeling that I am wasting their time or that they are rushing my time. There’s been no invasive, unnecessary checks of my internals or my externals; and, no freak out because they couldn’t find the heartbeat right away (and subsequent referral to a, gasp!, prenatal heart specialist for a high-caliber ultrasound).

Due to the diagnosis of a bicornuate uterus during my pregnancy with Boo, at 19 weeks, I was offered a referral for a more detailed ultrasound to determine how bicornuate my uterus actually is. When I was first diagnosed I was told that they were not able to tell me until I had my c-section (WHAt!?>!!), that I would have difficulty conceiving, that I would not be capable of carrying a full term baby, and that if I were to carry a baby to term it would definitely be breech so I would probably need a c-section. Apparently, that was all hogwash however because this office was able to determine via ultrasound that my bicornuate uterus is actually not so bicornuate, that it is actually so minor I should never think of it again. Or, at least, I’m taking the latter’s advice.

The ultrasound put a lot the hangups I had from my first pregnancy and delivery at ease and has helped me to learn to trust my body — it knows what the hell it is doing. It was also the first, and probably only, time that we will see this baby until delivery.

With less than 75 days until the baby’s “guess” date, in the last few weeks, we’ve started to prepare for the actual birth. With my last pregnancy, I couldn’t bring myself to actually read anything about labor. I understood the gist of what was going to happen and that was enough to scare the shit out of me. (And as I would later learn: out of me, figuratively and literally.) (I KNOW!) Looking back, it was just easier to chose to subscribe to the ignorance is bliss concept and, for the most part, it and the epidural got me through. But this time around I’m ready to be more involved, to be more in control of what kind of birth I’d like to have. So this time, I got myself a midwife (or two or three!), I’ve been reading and watching movies about childbirth, and a few weeks ago we started the home-study version of Hypnobabies to learn how to manage childbirth. I bring all of this up not because I want to get into a weighty discussion about childbirth or the details of our particular birthing plan but rather because it has just been so . . . eye-opening and dare I say, not so frightening (?) to learn to trust that women do this everyday and that we truly are made for this.

And if you haven’t already left me to be, you will real soon.

I hate that I haven’t written consistently since the beginning of the year.

I hate that there has been so much that has happened that I haven’t documented.

I hate that there has been so much that has happened that I now don’t know where to begin.

I hate that I am just too -tired -absentminded -busy -distracted -wrapped up in my own bubble to find the time to just write.

I hate that I just can’t force myself to do it.