If I could reach up past my epiglottis and disconnect whatever process is responsible for making comparisons, I would. But since I don’t really know what quadrant of the brain my epiglottis is located in, I better just add it to my list of things to consciously steer clear of. Like cauliflower on an empty stomach. Or pineapple. Or going anywhere these days without heartburn tablets.

This pregnancy, there are no comparisons allowed.

Here’s the problem. I’ve only been pregnant once before, so that’s the only mile marker system I have to work from. Except that since I’m having twins, none of those mile markers matter. It’s like going for a leisurely bike ride on a wooded trail one time, and then barreling down the same trail in a jake breaking semi-truck the next. It’s just not the same.

In my last post, I talked about pulling up my big girls pants. Good thing too, because they are the only sort of pants in my closet that fit any more. Belly bands? Those days are long gone. I’m now rocking the full-on 8 inch stretch panel maternity pants with a low-rise profile a fifteen year old would drool over. Well, except that instead of sassy underwear coming out the top, there’s just spandex tubing. Sexy.

The hardest thing about trying not to compare pregnancies is that I did not expect to grow this quickly. I’m totally fine with it, because it means the babies are growing, and that’s one of my pregnancy jobs. Grow babies. So I feel a little sense of accomplishment. But at the same time, I can’t stop comparing where I was size-wise with Ellie at 4 months to where I am with these two. It’s rough.

This experience is unique. I need to remember to treat it as such.

In other news, next week is an ultrasound. Stay tuned for one of the funniest internal pictures I’ve ever seen.