Notice how I have .6 added on to my time? Cause that’s how I’m counting the weeks now, by the day. Oh man, Piggie was already born by this time. I can’t do it. I’m done.
It’s not really that the pregnancy is so horrible, I’m having the typical end of pregnancy woes but nothing crazy. More so this time, I just want it to be over because A) my nursing aversions with Piggie are very strong and I want that nightmare to be over with already, and B) On my scale of “being a good mom” I’m only functioning at like a 30%. I can’t play with him like I’d like to, can’t sit for long with him, don’t have the patience of my former non-pregnant self, can’t hold him the way I’d like when he’s having a meltdown cause his squirms and kicks to my belly aren’t appreciated. Everything that has to do with him takes more stamina and effort than I feel I have to give.
Thank God for my husband!
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