I’m sitting here 34 weeks and a few days pregnant with a stopped up nose and a small trail of tissues following me wherever I go. I’m happy but I’m stressed. I’m excited but I’m anxious. I’m content but I’m rattled. I’m a bitch, I’m a lover, I’m a child, I’m a mother…
This pregnancy has actually been relatively breezy, all things considered. And I mean that purely in the sense of the pregnancy itself. Sure, I’ve been sick with sinus infections and stomach bugs more times than I can count, but my actual symptoms have been identical to when I was pregnant with Ziggy. I’ve had no complications whatsoever, Bean (that’s been his nickname since day one) has looked “perfect” at every check-in, and time has flown.
But time has flown because since pretty much the day I found out, it’s been non-stop chaos. We immediately decided to needed to try and move and spent two months dealing with open houses and showings, which I don’t have to explain the perils of to you if you’ve ever moved before. We then took our house off the market around Thanksgiving and sickness was just waiting in the wings to make our holiday season a living hell. Ziggy and I both were sick over Thanksgiving, then Ziggy was hospitalized Christmas night, and again two weeks later to kick off the new year.
On the Friday of that second hospital stint, we decided to put our house on the market and host open houses throughout that weekend. By Sunday night, we had an offer that actually held but would catapult us through a month of literal hell (IYKYK) right up until moving day.