A Tale of Two Pregnancies

Pregnancy really loses its magic when you do it more than once, I've discovered.

When I was pregnant with Zara, I read What to Expect When You're Expecting obsessively. I knew exactly how far along I was to the week and day and I knew what size fruit my baby was and how she was developing every inch of the way.

This time around, I know when I got pregnant and I know when the baby is supposed to come out but don't ask me to actually count the weeks. You can do the math for yourself.

(Though for curiousity's sake, I just looked it up and I'm only 27 weeks along. That's a bummer. I thought I was at like week 30 or something.)

I don't know whether she's the length of a banana or the size of broccoli or if her lungs are developed or if she's grown fingernails. According to the ultrasound, she has two arms, two legs, and a head. I'm feeling pretty good about that.

With Zara, I marveled at my expanding belly, took consistent maternity shots to mark its progress and delighted in feeling her move around.

I have not taken a photograph of myself since Thanksgiving (maybe Christmas?) and it was certainly not to leave a lasting image of my expansion.

For the record, I am much bigger this time than I was with Zara. Thanks for reminding me.

And yes, this baby kicks me all the time...just like her sister. And no, it's not as much fun. It hurts and it makes it hard to breathe.

With Zara, I read everything I could about child birth, labor, relaxation techniques, did prenatal yoga and went swimming to keep strong and in shape so I would have a better chance of having a natural childbirth.

This time, I'm studiously avoiding my childbirth books. I should probably remind David how to demonstrate proper breathing techniques during labor since I won't have a doula this time.

My daily exercise typically involves the long walk from my office in the JFSB to the Wilk on campus to buy a mint brownie. And then I have to walk ALL the way back.

I really wish Utah had embraced the expectant mother parking trend. But then they'd need more expectant mother parking spots than handicapped spots.

With Zara, I could spend hours aahhing over baby clothes, looking at baby gear, and reading all the product safety reviews and spending hour after agonizing hour deciding which carseat/stroller/bottle/pacifier to buy.

I figure we already got most of that stuff covered now, so we're good. She won't care that everything is secondhand, right?

I don't mean to imply that I'm completely miserable this time around or that I'm not still terribly excited for this little girl to make her debut, but I do find it funny how different this pregnancy has been compared to Zara's. It really, really makes me wonder how some women do this many, many times. And I have *easy* pregnancies compared to most women.