After finding out my June Letrozol/trigger shot help actually worked, I have been an emotional rollercoaster. I am beyond blessed that I'm pregnant and I have total faith in God that it was part of His patient plan.
I don't know if it's my hormones, finding another job to help support my growing family, or taking 15 credit hours this semester while trying to plan a wedding, but I am pooped.
I wanted to be pregnant so bad and now that it has finally happened it has taken a lot for me to get acclimated to the changes. When I want a beer I could go to my fridge and get one. Not anymore. Fall time is my absolute favorite. I usually go to haunted houses every weekend with Jake - but not this year. CedarPoint Halloweekends is out of question. I am eternally grateful, but it can be hard sometimes. Oh, and I also had to cancel my honeymoon because I can't go to Mexico according to my doctor.
There were times when I would feel so good about my little baby bump and then there were times I would walk past a mirror and cry because I looked so big. Not pregnant, BIG. I'm finally starting to feel good about my growing belly.
I thank God everyday for my little miracle. Within the last week I've been able to feel the baby move (usually when I eat really spicy food). Most of the time I have to be sitting or laying down or I don't feel anything. Sometimes I question why I can't feel him all the time. I know it's because I'm only 17 weeks pregnant and I should be thankful for my opportunities now, but it makes me wonder if he is okay or if there's a problem. (Jake and I decided we are not finding out the gender of the baby, but I'm going to continue to call baby a "him" because I think I'm having a boy.) I'm sure I'm over exaggerating, but since this process hasn't been easy for me I don't want to do anything to compromise it.
Although I'm missing my random drinks and spooky time outings, I am so beyond happy that I am growing a little precious baby in me. I just can't wait for the day I get to meet him. March 2020 please hurrrrryyy.
