23 weeks: Oh yeah, I’m pregnant.

23 weeks, 3 days

I hate to admit it, but I forget that I’m pregnant…pretty often. I’m not focused solely on growing a person because I also have to focus on raising a person. A person who is teething, might I add, and doesn’t yet have a firm grasp on language or emotions. A person who really wants to watch Elmo all the time.

In general, I’m more confident in my body’s ability to grow a baby without fretting about everything, therefore I’m more willing to relax and just let things happen. Baby Kelly 2 is literally along for the ride right now, and seems quite comfortable and happy. My time is better spent on tasks like making sure Caroline doesn’t remove her poopy diaper and play with it, or protecting her from running into oncoming traffic, or teaching her how to go up and down the stairs by herself.

It’s been The Caroline Show around here for the past 19+ months, and I’m a little nervous about the transition from 1 child to 2. Really, I’m not worried about Caroline at all–I’m wondering what my juggling skills are like. I know that we’ll all figure out a new routine and that new baby will fit in with little to no problem, but I’m trepidatious just the same. Chalk it up to uncertainty about the unknown.


From a physical standpoint, I can’t tell if I’m having fewer symptoms or if I’m just not focused on them. The bump groweth, the heart-burneth, and the bowels crawleth, yadda yadda. Staying active has been great and the hours I spend at the barn with Oliver are invaluable to me. (We went for a hack this past week through this huge field…it was one of those oddly warm days, the leaves were peaking and it was oh-so-wonderfully quiet. I cherished that ride.)

From a feelsy standpoint, there’s not much to report. You may remember that I wrote extensively about the apathy I had throughout pregnancy with Caroline. This time, I’m not finding that I feel more emotionally connected, and I’d go as far to say that I feel even more disconnected because, as I’ve mentioned at length, I’m not focusing as hard on gestating.

This just must be how I react to pregnancy, and I’m ok with it. Even cooler? I’ve noticed that I’m no longer so hard on myself because I know that it’s not an indication of my capacity (or incapacity) to love as a parent. Accepting that this is just part of who I am has been an excellent lesson for me.

Care for some bump?




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