I am, however, reliving the nightmare that is about week six. Just the beginning. The week that feels like you're tied to the tracks, and that train is sounding pretty darn close. So close that you can almost feel it, but still quite aware that you ain't felt nothin' yet.
It's just a sinus infection but it feels so much like week six that I have had to do some serious calculating to be sure. I'm not.
In the month that some spend pouring over seed catalogues and planting onions in the basement, February is the month that we begin growing babies.
Which is another reason why this feels all-too familiar. The grey skies. The bone-chilling cold. The same rotation of yoga pants and hoodies. The body aches and semi-nausea and loss of appetite.
But it's just a sinus infection.
A bad enough sinus infection to bring back vivid memories of two yucky Februaries, two awful Marches, two hellish Aprils, two just blech Mays . . . and two times five more months of bearably bad but definitely not good.
(crowned with two late-Autumn babies so worth it I would surely do it all a thousand times over for them. Just hope I don't have to).