Ages ago, we had a neighbor who was expecting her second at the same time I was pregnant with #3. She and I used to visit a fair bit back then, and she spent months talking about how great she felt, while I was more candid about how I spent all day lying on the couch watching my older children smash Cheetos on the floor, because meh. Her baby was born about three weeks before mine.
A year later, shortly before our conversations stopped completely, she confessed that she had experienced crushing fatigue during her pregnancy.
Well, duh. There’s a giant parasite burrowing into your bloodstream and stealing all your nutrients. Fatigue is going to be part of the process, especially during the first trimester when that whole placenta thingy is growing and establishing itself — you’re not just making a baby, you know. It doesn’t make you a weak and pathetic person to feel tired. It means you’re human, like everyone else.
I still wonder why she felt compelled to pretend otherwise.
So, here I am, pregnant with #5, and I’m tired. No, it doesn’t get easier the more times you go through it, and yes, it does freak me out a little to say “I’m expecting my fifth” — that’s starting to feel like a lot of kids. I get dizzy if I stand up too quickly, and I feel just awful in the evenings. I also love my new baby very much, and everyone is super excited.
Thankfully, my first two are now old enough that they vacuum the floor, instead of smashing snacks all over it.
