I love being pregnant.

I don't normally go on about this because I read all the time that women who say they love being pregnant are just lying, or insane, or both.

But I'm neither.  Well, I'm not lying.  Jury's still out about the insanity part.

The whole things rocks.

I love the trying (but of course).

I love the waiting to find out.  Especially when I already know.  Peeing on the stick: just a formality =)

I love those first few months feeling exhausted, because it means all my energy is going into actually creating a human being.  More specifically, another President of these United States.  We have big plans for our fetus's.  Fetii? 

I love when my pants start to get tight, but you can't tell anything yet.  But you know why your pants are tight.

I love, love, LOVE that first little wiggle.  I love, having been pregnant many times now, knowing for sure the difference between the joy of gas, and the joy of quickening.

I love those few months when the baby bump is cute and little, and the kicks you feel in it are all for you.

But my favorite part of the whole pregnancy experience is the kicking my kids and husband get to feel.  Being pregnant with older kids is so much fun.  They're so curious, so excited.  It renews pregnancy for me.  While it seems "old hat", I get to see it afresh through their sweet little eyes.  The way Kembry's face lights up when her baby sister kicks her, or the way Cohen quickly takes away his hand because he's so shocked that mommy's tummy is carrying an actual being.  Love it.

I love how, especially now, my belly leads everywhere I go.  I feel like I'm following her.  That explains why when I get somewhere, I have no idea why I'm there.  Haha.  Okay, maybe not.

I have a love/hate relationship with the forgetfulness, and the dumbening.  While it's annoying, and milk doesn't keep well in a cupboard, I think it's hilarious.  It makes me laugh at myself, which is one of my favorite things to do.  I give myself plenty of material.

Of course the best part, the most rewarding part, is that tell-tale gush of water (or slight leak) or that agonizing, gut wrenching pain.  Because then you know.  In only a few hours, if all goes well, you'll be holding that little seed turned giant watermelon in your arms instead of your round ligaments.  You don't think much about the pain, or the recovery, or the next 18 years.  You just think that those little hats sitting in the bassinet, and those tiny socks in the drawer, will be keeping little ears and little toes warm so soon.

Only 7 weeks! 

Kelly Down