I didn't write it down. I have only fuzzy memories. But, I think, I spent a lot of the first trimester that I was pregnant with the Kid curled up on my bed full of inner conflict and trying to swallow the enormity of ohmygawd-baby-in-there.
This time I'm just sleepy. Like, take a three hour nap and still go to bed at nine'o'clock sleepy. Between naps, the most distressing or deep thought I've had is, "I bet it'll be a long time before I master stopping for lattes in the morning with two."
Also, the telling people thing has been less dramatic.
With the Kid, we carefully informed our family members first, and then told only about three friends--sworn to absolute secrecy--who were on the need-to-know list for very specific reasons. We told family first this time, too, but once that formality was dispensed with, the floodgate of friends in-the-know swung pretty wide open.
As a person with some family history of early miscarriage--but when you really start asking, who isn't?--I won't be ready to shout out news of this baby to the internets and all until we've heard her wee heartbeat on May 6th. In the meantime though, our circle of people who would show up to pour me wine if the worst happened has grown so much since last time. It feels grinchy and pessimistic to hold in our good news when they'd all be the first to support us if it turned out that the news was bad.
But on to happier thoughts--maternity jeans!
For some mysterious and unholy reason, I resisted maternity clothing the first time around. I stubbornly rubber-banded my jeans until I couldn't stand it anymore, and only then did I make the plunge into pants with a stretchy front panel.
And discovered that they are the universe's secret prize for gestating women!
While my (evil, sinful) pride dictated returning to normal jeans ASAP after the Kid was born, maternity jeans=awesome sauce. Don't let anyone tell you different.