…This was me.
I was just about as pregnant as this lady is physically allowed to get…and you can tell. Not only by the watermelon protruding from my abdominal cavity, but also by the look in my eyes. Even through dark sunglasses, you can tell that this is a woman Who. Is. Done.
I had been [erroneously, I think] diagnosed with gestational diabetes. (By one point! The Russian judge was unimpressed.) I was Done with eating sugarless “treats.” I was Done with stabbing leg cramps, debilitating nausea, and a terrifying need for red meat.
And it was around this time when The Doubt set in. The “maybe we rushed into this” kinda doubt. The “am I ever going to have time for my first kid” doubt. The “giving birth is not so awesome, maybe I can file a stay” doubt. So how did it end up?
Spoiler: Roughly 24 hours later, while introducing my two daughters to one another…I got to experience the single greatest moment of my life.
And I really don’t think the morphine can take all of the credit, either.
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