Here I am with 32 weeks of gestational work weighing heavier by the day. One of my neighbors said at 30 weeks you begin to experience the longest ten weeks of your life. True that!
I have to say if I could compare this process to a marathon (What an overdone simile, right?) Ya, you’re right. But if you will, indulge me for a minute… because I can’t help but feel like I’m at mile 20. Whenever I face the mile 20 marker I always think, wow I’ve come so far, look at me go, and then I quickly realize I still have six miles to go and wait six miles is still kind of a lot when you’ve already pounded your legs for 20. I’m at the point where I think, wow, 32 weeks perhaps I’ll make it before I kill my husband and child, until I realize eight weeks is actually two months and Mason and Milly apparently still to watch themselves.
I keep seeing this image of myself unzipping this fat suit taking a deep, full breath for the first time in 7 months and emerging as myself once again.
Here’s to the next eight weeks.