Dear Third Trimester,

You know, I’m not one to believe in rumors. I didn’t want to believe what they said about you. They said you made things uncomfortable (even miserable), you slowed everything down, and you made sure my thighs went straight down to my feet, not bothering to distinguish between knees and ankles. They said you’d make my toes look like cheese puffs and my fingers like sausages. They said you made even getting out bed difficult to do each morning. But I figured if you were the one that got me closer to my baby girl, than certainly I could manage you for a few months. Certainly I could be thankful that you were the bridge to my future.

I like to give people the benefit of the doubt. I like to give things a chance. I am a pretty understanding person. Sometimes to a fault.

But I’m sorry to say that I am over you. They were all right. Every single one of them. My patience has worn thin. While mere months ago, I was skipping through the fields with second trimester, making flower tiaras, I find myself irritated at your presence and missing my days in the sun. Getting out of bed IS harder…a chore in and of itself. The grunting and the rolling around until I manage enough leverage to get on my feet is beyond frustrating, not to mention a bit embarassing. It doesn’t often happen without laughter from my smart-alec other half, Cody.

You also must have gotten the bone-crushing exhaustion from first trimester because it has returned full force (NOT very original, I must say, but then now that I know you, it doesn’t surprise me. Low blow…).

The swelling is more eye-catching than my belly (I’ve been told so!) and nothing makes a girl feel more unattractive than ROLLS on her ANKLES. This is evil and wrong. But no, you don’t stop there. You also make my fingers swell, to the point that my fingers and wrists ache with pain throughout the day.  Using a stapler is nearly impossible right now. And I sorely miss wearing my wedding rings.

I also am realizing you’ve turned my maternity wardrobe into a tricky mess. The maternity pants somehow don’t always consider that the hips never stop growing EVER. And the maternity tops have mysteriously become mid-riffs. So either the designers have mis-measured OR this is the new style. To which I say…nothanksIpassI’lljustwearthisgarbagebag.

While I could go on (and some days, that’s all I want to do), I won’t. Because as I type this, Heidi is shoving herself forward as hard as she can, pressing my belly tighter against my desk. Her feet are rolling upside down, her hands are doing something above her head, and every once in awhile, she stretches out COMPLETELY so that I can sense the entire length of her (and she is loooooooong, thanks to daddy’s heighth). She has changed drastically in the past week, and I cannot BELIEVE this little being, which I once rejoiced had grown from the size of a peanut to a lemon, is now nearly the size of a watermelon.

I don’t know why the temptation is to concentrate on all the difficulties of pregnancy when it reaps a LIFETIME of blessings, but I guess we’re only human. But whenever I do, I can count on my daughter to startle me and surprise me and sometimes even hurt me on a daily basis (gee, think this will stop when she’s born?? I submit that it will NOT). She reminds me that she is growing and playing and getting ready to come out to meet me!   She reminds me to stop and feel and listen and wait because behind the tough stuff is the silver, beautiful, sparkly lining….HER. When I think about that, tears fill up my eyes. Sure, it could be the hormones, I guess.  But who cares. It still feels special. And I still miss her every day. So to me that’s not hormones…that’s real. 🙂

So, Third Trimester, you can hang around. I’m sure me and my girl will be just fine. And we’ll have been glad to know you once she’s here.

Love,

Jamie & Heidi

I won’t lie. I HATE this picture, but our computer is fried right now and I can’t put up my newest ones. This photo is at 31 weeks. (Currently at 33 weeks).