Second Trimester Victories

27 Sep

At twenty weeks pregnant I feel wonderful.  The second trimester is a brilliant time; I have energy again, I can keep food down, and have a cute bump.


At twenty-two weeks we go on a baby moon and romp around NYC.  Much like our last urban vacation in Montreal, we walk off all the amazing food we eat.  But this time it isn’t without pain.  All my leg joints, especially my hips, and my back continuously reminded me of my condition.  I couldn’t go go go like I was used to.  There are a lot of breaks and we become pretty proficient at finding public toilets. 


At twenty-three weeks, baby is moving around like a fiend, and I am even further reminded that there will be an infant in the near future. I walk into what will be the future nursery and feel immense panic. I have a month before the very draining third trimester begins, and this room needs love ASAP.  It was our guest bedroom, complete with a full sized bed which takes up about 80% of the room.  My dresser lives here as both the bedrooms in this house built in 1920 don’t fit much more than a single dresser and a bed, therefore it’s going to have to remain in this room.  These preexisting items are competing with all the baby stuff that has just been rudely thrown in here waiting to be assembled or rehomed to other rooms in the house. The room is so crammed that I have to walk over a very crowded bed to get to the other side.  There is a baby dresser on that side that I continue to shove things into, only I don’t have access to the bottom drawers since the infant bathtub, Pack n’ Play parts, and a breast pump are just dumped right in front.  I can’t move them anywhere else, as every inch of this room is occupied. 


I move into full battle mode.  I call my aunt to take back her crib… I hadn’t realized it was a drop side crib until after she had dropped it off and left.  One thing down.  A six year old’s birthday party interrupts for a brief period of time.  Combining forces with my husband, we assemble a new, more compact Rabbit Manson that does a better job of contained projectile rabbit poo; another area of anxiety-inducing stress taken care of, though it’s in the dining room.


The next day, I clear off the guest bed so my husband can disassemble it.  He declares the weekend productive.  He hasn’t not realized my battle mode will not be shut down so easily.  I clear out the room so I can lay down rugs.  They are beautiful, and give me plenty of working room to just open the flat packages containing the furniture and check to see if all the parts are intact.  I read the directions.  Then I re-read them.  Then I convince myself that I need to be done;  it’s not fair to my husband when I try to build things and it ends in me swearing and him having to finish the project.  I decide to watch a movie which is shut off after 10 minutes as I go back to re-re-read the directions.  Stupid battle mode.  I can do this.  I retrieve the screwdriver from upstairs, swearing to my husband that I won’t make him do anything more this weekend, and thank him for all the things he has already done.   


I successfully build the crib.  My husband checks on me once, and agrees that he should tighten all the bolts.  This is the end of his aid.  I feel accomplished and happy.  Then I eye the bookshelf.  No, I really shouldn’t.  But I do anyways.  I look in the closet.  I purge baby stuff that is missing pieces and stuffed toys that are covered in who-knows-what-but-was-given-to-us-for-free. I fit things in the closet now that aren’t needed for a while.  I set up the bassinet.  My back kills.  I think I’m funny and give my husband a serious frown and tell him to look at what I did.  Fearing the worst, but suspecting the troll, he is pleased at the progress. 



I have no more anxiety for the moment. I will be able to enjoy my last few weeks of the second trimester. 


P.S. The room was cobalt blue when it was a guest bedroom.  It is not indicative of gender. 


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: