Open Letter to Third Trimester

Hello, Third Trimester. We're not really going to be friends, are we? It seems like every time we start to get along, you throw down. And me? Well, at least for another several weeks (we hope), I'm at your mercy. You've gone to heartburn, pelvic pain, back pain, shortness of breath (why do we live on the third floor again?), and, most of all, contractions. Lots of contractions. They don't do anything, thankfully, they're just sometimes regular and occasionally painful and always annoying. We've already been to the hospital once to get checked out, and I've had to call the doctor twice more because I've been having lots of those pesky contractions. Always on Sundays, always when Bryan's not home. Probably because you know that's when if something needs to be done, I'm the only one here to do it. We don't need to run through the list of "things that need to be done" because we both know that's just a little too much information for the Internet. Let's leave it at lots of messes, especially those of a two-and-a-half year old and a cute but sort of stupid cat.

Well, we're going to have to make peace with each other. Even if we can't be friends, we're going to have to live with each other for several more weeks. Hopefully at least 8, but not more than 12. How about I'll try to take it easier and not carry groceries up three flights of stairs, and you avoid making me freak out that I'm going into preterm labor.

Because this is not about you or me. This is about Leah. And we want her to be healthy and strong and ready to face the world. So throw your heartburn, pelvic pain, back pain, and shortness of breath at me all you want. But let's just leave her out of it. OK?