I am done with this whole baby-Tupperware situation. Don't get me wrong, I honestly don't mind the baby rolling around my guts, nudging my bladder (usually...sometimes she jumps on it repeatedly, and I pee a little... so not cool), bizarre internal bellybutton pokes, or even the frequent peeing and waddling.
I will tell you what I am done with.
I am done with only having one pair of jeans that fits.
I am tired of the bottom three inches of my belly sticking out of almost every shirt I own.
I am sick to death of wearing the same Birkenstock clogs every god damned day because my feet are too swollen for all of the others save my favorite Keen sneakers which I cannot wear unless someone is around to do up the laces for me.
I am tired of hearing about what I should and shouldn't eat or drink - yes, I have about 4 oz of lager or a brown every now and then. Yes, I have a tiny glass of wine (think the portion of what you get during Hanukkah or a Mass as a kid) occasionally but it gives me wretched heartburn. I also still eat the occasional soft cheese and cold cut! I still eat salmon voraciously! I drink coffee! I eat hollandaise and over medium eggs and aioli and LOVE IT, nay crave it insanely! And anyone who wants to give me shit about it can shove it - if I crave it, I am eating it.
I am missing rummaging around at Goodwill or the local consignment shops for clothes - it's more the thrill of the hunt I miss. Finding a five dollar pair of converse sneakers is fun if they're for Sweetbean, but I only feel truly victorious if they're MINE!
I want to be able to get up off the couch without getting myself rocking for momentum's sake first.
For that matter, I miss being able to get up out of a nice warm tub without hollering "HALP" to my husband, who always comes running like the house is on fire even if forewarned I am just getting out of the bath.
I want so very badly to sleep on my back - sleeping on my side causes my behemoth mammaries to collide with my throat, kind of slowly choking me at night.
I am very sad that there is no real nookie for the next four and a half months... I mean, there are alternatives... but come on.
I am very, very tired of being treated like a cripple, or as impossibly irrational / hormonal / etc. I am still me. Yes, I cry at the end of Cold Case and yell at my roux for thinning too quickly. I am much more passionate in my rants. I have freezer cleaning needs at odd times of the day and night. Every disagreeable or confusing thing I do is not directly attributable to my pregnancy. It really isn't. Just the reeeeeeeeeaally weird stuff.
Also, heartburn, wtf? You can go right to hell and DIE, heartburn. I hate you so much.
2 comments:
Oh - that reminds me of how much I hate those tall willowy types that do yoga right up until they float into the lavender-infused birthing pool and say how wonderful pregnancy is - it's not! Giving birth is probably one of the most medically dangerous things you can ever do. And I don't believe other pregnant happy types who say "oh I never had to alter my clothes' (like my lying mother!). No wonder I hate being in confined spaces to this day.
I feel for you and being uncomfortable. I (apparently) was very 'small' pregnant but I felt like a heaving monster that couldn't breath properly because my boy's head was jammed under my ribcage pushing my liver into my lungs. And I seem to remember himwhosnoreslikeabison saying that pregsex was like conquering Mt Everest - cheers!
You just keep ladling the hollandaise and enjoying yourself - I order you too! And take care x
Well, I take joy in knowing those ladies have just as wicked of hemorrhoids and heartburn and sore tits as I do, lavender butt balm be damned. I don't think it's typically that dangerous (sometimes, oh, yes, it is, just not unless there's a real problem like blood pressure or pre eclampsia)... uh.. we homebirth, typically. generationally speaking.
I have burly muscles, so I am held in well, but no clothes fit comfortably and I feel like my lady regions weigh two tons and all I want to do is sleep until I have to wake up and squat the kid out. and then sleep some more.
with intermittent hollandaise and coffee breaks, of course.
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