The second trimester wears on...

The nausea of the first trimester passed, but left no time for relief as it rapidly segued into extraordinarily painful heartburn. Despite sleeping propped up on a special wedge pillow and taking Tums and Mylanta, I found myself awake one night, tears running down my face in pain. In that moment, though not much of a reggae fan, I heard Bob Marley in my head, "don't worry about a thing, every little thing is gonna be all right." My brain trying to soothe me, I guess. That or the neighbor's music selections during their afternoon "relaxation" have been burnt into my brain.

I suppose I should have expected to have digestive problems, given my medical history. But it's been challenging. Fortunately, as of this moment, most of the time, I do pretty well on a routine of food and meds that makes the symptoms manageable.

When the pregnant lady goes grocery shopping:

After referring to myself as a land-whale (Steve charitably suggested that I'm one of the cute little whales, like a beluga) for awhile, I've realized I'm more like a penguin fattened up for winter. I have quite the waddle already.

Comparison pictures on my progress:

12 weeks (3 months in, from previous post)

Just under 22 weeks (almost 5 1/2 months in, from earlier this evening... my belly is going to get disturbingly big before this is all over)

I feel like I skipped the allegedly blissful part of the second trimester where the nausea is gone but one is not uncomfortably large. I've already gained as much weight as some women do their whole pregnancy (though my doctor says I'm right where I should be for twins) and I'm 39" around.

My parents went outlet mall shopping with relatives, so Steve and I were gifted some little clothes for the "Babies Loveridge." I was surprised how emotional I got holding the tiny outfits. My mom also went through the clothes she saved from my and my brother's childhood and gave us the infant-sized ones, so we have some great retro fashions for the little dudes.

I sort through toys and linens in my attic:

We've had some visitors, including (back in February, but I forgot to blog it) friends Eric & Gail and Steve's parents, who were unlucky enough to be around for the aftermath of my sob-inducing heartburn.

During the day, when I was feeling somewhat normal, Eric, Gail and I survey the rock-stack garden in Pogonip Park:

Steve and Eric contribute with a tiny twig bridge:

J and his family also stopped by recently, and we had lunch with Jack and Amanda. I've been so tired and out-of-it, I didn't take any pictures of those visits.

It's been a dizzying time. Finding out we're having sons, getting more encouraging test results back and ultrasounds done have helped mitigate some stress. I can feel the boys rolling around, nudging me with their tiny hands and feet, which is both exceptionally strange and weirdly emotional.

It all still feels unbelievable, and I have been resistant to celebrating. Not because I'm not happy... having children with Steve feels really beautiful and perfect. It's because of how sick I've felt and how difficult it has been just to get to this point. Until the kids make it out alive (and hopefully healthy), I don't feel "safe" celebrating. Day-to-day, I find that I am fairly calm and not overly worried about the developing fetuses. But anytime discussions turn to baby showers, gifts, or setting up the nursery, little threads of worry weave through my thoughts. Having twins is risky... what if one or both don't make it? What if I don't? Celebrations just seem a bit... premature.

All that being said, life is good here. Steve takes excellent care of me and our house. He shops, cleans, cooks, does the dishes and, well... every other household chore. He takes care of the bunnies. He tries to bolster my spirits when I'm feeling sick and discouraged. He says I look great (I worry my unsettled sleeping may be causing him similar sleep deprivation and damaging his brain).

Thus, with my ever-expanding waistline leading the way, on we go...