Not time to have the baby--This little goober can cook as long as she wants. No rushing this baby. The longer she's in, the more sleep we get. I'm no fool. If she's anything like her sister, she'll stay in until she's forced out. As a matter of fact, I think Chloe would still be incubating if she were able.--But it is time to break out the maternity clothes. I slipped into my regular jeans a couple of days ago, looked in the mirror and thought to myself, "mmm...this might be stretching it."
Literally. Stretching. The fold of my jeans stopped covering the zipper. The side seams were all off kilter. And my rear end looked like it was about to eat the rear end of my jeans. So I put vanity aside and pulled out the boxes I so bravely ignored all these months.
After giving birth to my first girl, I packed up my maternity clothes just as quick as my body would let me. I bid them good riddance and promised them that I would see them again in a few years. I almost gave them away to Goodwill. I almost shipped them home to Oklahoma. I almost didn't get pregnant again. But I did. And I moved them with me to Cleveland thinking they would be stowed away in a random closet. And here they are. Being put to use once again.
It kind of felt like Christmas going through the clothes. Maybe like a Christmas with your unexpected half-siblings, but Christmas nonetheless. It was interesting to rediscover items that I'd already forgotten about. Like this cute little dress.
And then I found...
Wait. What is that.
I blocked this memory from my mind. Had months of therapy to rid myself of nightmares.
It's my nursing bra. Oh, I'm in pain reminiscing. The nights of writhing and screaming in pain. The fear of God has been struck deep in my soul. Everything hurt. Everything. Especially my...
And then I find these little babies. And my heart sings. So comfortable and you don't have to zip your pants. It's like wearing sweat pants. They're brilliant. I have to admit that they made a brief appearance when I was newly pregnant and heaving everywhere. The thought of having something tight on my body made me sick. But once I felt better, I prayed and somehow fit back into my regular jeans. I must say that I'm excited for my Old Navy maternity jeans to have their swan song.
And here I am at 25 weeks.
I'm huge. My stomach has exploded. I'm definitely bigger this time at 25 weeks than I was last time. The picture's on my blog somewhere. Cute, little 25 week, Chloe bump. And no, I'm not linking you there. I'll make you dig if you want to compare the two. I've justified this combustion in my mind with a couple of excuses. A.) It's my second pregnancy. Don't you explode quicker the second time around? B.) I'm pregnant with sextuplets. There must be like six of 'em in there, right? C.) When you get pregnant just 8 weeks after giving birth, your abs do not have the chance to get back into the same shape they once were in. They'll come back right? Flat abs? Please? Someone lie to me? Needless to say, after a baby things tend to give a little quicker.
Why do I feel the need to justify? I'm pregnant, for heaven's sake. That should be reason enough.