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Tuesday, February 17, 2004

I am a huge, huge cow. Elise weighs around 2 pounds, but you would think I was 20 months pregnant. With 14 more weeks to go I simply cannot fathom how I could possibly get any bigger. I am massive. My face is fat, my body is completely distorted, and I am absolutely gorgeous! I am never so beautiful as when I am carrying a tiny li'l tummy traveler. I can not believe I have made it this far.

This is the second day of my 27th week. I.e., I'm only 26 weeks. Ugh. Next week will begin the third trimester for us, the last third of a Technicolor nightmare. The days stretch themselves out before me; I can hardly stand it. I love my daughter, I love the way I look with her body in mine, but my God in Heaven, this can’t be over soon enough.

Monday, yesterday, lasted two weeks. How could it be such a long day? How can I complain now? I've been in worse places physically. Vomiting every eight minutes for an entire day—that was a bad, long day. Lying in a bed for the 21st week, just lying here, not puking or soiling myself and even having the ability to eat—well, I should feel home free. But I don't. I want out of this confounded bed.

I feel sorry for myself and then remember why I am in this bed. I am in this bed because I aborted my first child in the second trimester, due to HG and the lack of good medical support, and this permanently damaged my cervix. Two of us walked into that clinic, and I, with my obliterated cervix, was the lucky one: I walked out.

My child lost his/her life and I got off with a booboo on my cervix. I saw the jar they stuffed him/her in, yet here I am feeling sorry for myself. I am in this bed with my guts rolling back into my throat and my digestive system unable to function properly. Whatever your position on the issue, this is the consequence of aborting my baby seven years ago. There it is.

Nine more weeks in bed. Nine more weeks and then I can get up. That's all I want now. Just to get up, walk around, clean the house, do the dishes, cook dinner and be my son's mommy. Nine weeks. Over 60 days. 60 days?! 60 more days like this?!? Sigh...

It could be worse. Obviously.


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