Tag Archives: Mood Swingin’!

Broken Condoms…Reloaded (Alternately Titled “Holy Shitballs” Which Seems to be the Common Response)

Seriously, I know the title sounds a little gross. And I also know that I might get some serious weirdos starting to hang around…but I will have to deal with it. Because I am too tired to think of a clever title that fits this post. Because, internet, I’m knocked up again.

And yes. You read that right. I, Broken Condoms lady, reluctant mommy blogger, is knocked up AGAIN. And before you all start dropping like flies with the sheer shock of it all, let me go ahead and clear everything up for you. Please feel free to let me know if I leave anything out…

1. Yes. I was taking birth control pills. And yes, we were also using condoms on the rare occasion that I actually let my husband touch me. Because pregnancy was enough to scare me into wearing a titanium suit around him if I had to. None of this worked, evidently. Hence this post. (Grrr…)

2. How do I feel about this whole mess, you ask? Well, internet, I feel a lot of things. I’ve been keeping this under wraps for awhile so a lot of that emotional shit, I have since come to terms with, but let me try and run you through what I have experienced thus far. First there was denial. I think that when your first child is 5.5 months old and you find out that you are, indeed, expecting again, the first thing that happens in your brain (especially if you have been taking any and every means of preventing this from happening) is that you decide that it can’t be true. It has to be some cruel joke that the Universe is playing on you. Wait, is it April Fools’ Day? You got me, Universe, you really, really got me. But then you start to vomit and you think, “Hey, I must have a stomach bug.” Seriously. I convinced myself for 4 days that the positive home pregnancy test was the Universe playing a joke and that the morning sickness was actually just a stomach bug. After I puked a few more times, though, I just started to have a little breakdown. I kept thinking about all the things I was about to have to do (AGAIN) that drove me so crazy the first time. You know, like the not sleeping (which I am, obviously, currently not doing anyway) and the back pain and the intense need for double cheeseburgers from McDonalds. And then I cried a lot. Daily. For a LONG TIME. I considered options. And I discussed everything with MB (who, by the way, was in support of whatever I decided even though he felt that we, as a couple, are strong enough to do this shit all over again. Curses.) I stared at my daughter for hours and contemplated the birth of our second child and what it would mean for us and our family. I reasoned with myself about eventually wanting to have another child in the next couple of years anyway and how having this baby would make me…well…DONE with childbearing. And that thought gave me solace. But then I cried some more. Because, holy crap, internet, the kids will only be a year apart! And how will I chase a child who will inevitably be starting to walk and carry a newborn around and not sleep all while MB is at work all day?! How will I manage?! But then I stared at my daughter some more. And I thought about how hopeless I felt when I found out I was pregnant with her. And how doubtful of my abilities I was before she was born. And I felt a little bit better. Because dammit, I am a fantastic mom. Am I necessarily ready to be the “mother of two”? No. But was I ready to be a “mother of one”? Hells no.

The acceptance part started after I had to go to the Health Center and get a proof of pregnancy again so I could start the medicaid process (because, though, MB and I are now married, my insurance did not start until January 1st) AGAIN. (Which, if you remember, was pretty much the worst thing EVER for me.) A week later, the crying had stopped, for the most part, and shockingly, the Health Department had my Medicaid set up before I showed up for my appointment. (I didn’t have to make a SINGLE PHONE CALL.) I saw that as a good omen. And then I was all set to hear the heartbeat of the baby (as it was estimated that I was about 14 weeks along at this point) and the PA couldn’t find it on the Doppler. And this might sound crazy. Or horrible. Or whatever…but I was actually relieved. I felt like this might be my “out”. She set me up with an Ultrasound (which was more than three weeks away) and sent me on my way. To panic some more. Needless to say, I started the processes all over again, thinking that it might just be a fluke. Hello, denial.

My ultrasound was yesterday afternoon. I told my sister-in-law in the morning what the situation was and she offered to come with me to the appointment in case MB couldn’t get home from work in time. MB made it home at the speed of light and the three of us trekked downtown and, just like that, I’m gonna have a little boy. Due June 6th, 2013.

3. So, yeah, I know I didn’t answer “how do you feel NOW?” in that monster paragraph up there. The truth is. I feel peaceful. Obviously, fat. And sleepy. And a little scared. But also a little relieved that this whole thing is already almost half-way over and no one could tell I was pregnant (SCORE!). I haven’t gained any weight. I haven’t been nearly as sick as last time. Things have been fairly uneventful. So, do I feel good about the whole thing? Ehhh…I don’t know if GOOD is the right adjective. But I feel okay. I am alive, I am healthy. My baby is healthy. And I still have a wonderful partner and a beautiful daughter to remind me that this is not the end of the world. (Because, in some intense moments, I feel like I could lose it.)

4. I haven’t told EVERYONE in the world yet. By that, I just mean that I haven’t announced the news on Facebook. And I probably won’t do a giant, “We’re pregnant!!!” post. Because the people who matter have either already been told or will be soon enough. I don’t need to tell 200 more of my closest friends. Also, I am still sorting out the fact that I feel sort of ashamed that I let this happen so soon after having Baby L. Yes, I know I did all I could to prevent it, internet. But it feels so…irresponsible. Seriously. I mean, come ON, internet. Who DOES this?

(As I type this, THIS is what is happening on my TV. How can I not be optimistic?!)

http://youtu.be/DkLRXMBFtYo

Anyway, so that’s what’s going on over here. And maybe why I have been sort of distant lately. Please don’t break up with me, internet. I can’t do this alone!

FAIL.

I had sort of made up my mind, since the beginning of my pregnancy, that I would give birth on May 4th. Why? I have no idea. Did it happen? Hells no.

Alas, I am still motherfucking pregnant.

My BH contractions started to intensify over the last few days, however, and I was sure that this meant that I was going to go into labor AT ANY MOMENT. And then when I started to actually vomit (AGAIN?! SERIOUSLY?! WHEN DOES THIS END?!), I was SURE that the wait was over and little Baby L was coming. I was positive that I was effaced and dilated and that, like my mother, I must just not be able to feel the contractions yet (she literally had NO IDEA that she was in labor for me until, like, an hour before I was born. We should all be so lucky.) and that I should ready my hospital bag immediately. But then, after the ONE BH contraction which was slightly more uncomfortable than the last, there was nothing. And then there was more nothing. And then, this morning I had an appointment with the doctor, who confirmed that, well, NOTHING IS HAPPENING.

20120507-133913.jpgI can’t say that it is complete nothing. My cervix has thinned a bit, and I am dilating, however, not even ONE CENTIMETER YET…which makes me sort of want to punch someone in the throat. (In fact, I would sort of like to line up some really annoying people and punch them one by one. And then eat a bowl of ice cream. Because…well…I am still, after all, a pregnant lady.) If anyone is interested in putting together a lineup, hit me up, I will send you a list. Some of the people might be SLIGHTLY unattainable (I am sure Phil Collins is busy doing something really obnoxious and will not be available for throat punching), but I will accept look-alikes or any approved equally annoying substitute.

Anyway, that’s where we’re at. Preggo and punchy. Any other way just wouldn’t be right.

 

Related articles

 

Using My Own Uterus

This image shows a white wine glass (WMF Easy)...

Oh, how I miss you, wine.

So, in the final few weeks of this pregnancy thing I’ve been doing, I’ve found myself bitter, cranky, easily excitable, anxious and disinterested in things such as being in public, talking to people, eating vegetables, and getting out of bed.

I think, just judging from what I have read, that all of this stuff is pretty normal. I have entered that miserable stage of pregnancy where I am too big/uncomfortable/exhausted to get much done and I am too over it to care. I just want to have a damn baby now. For fuck’s sake, when am I going to have a damn baby?!

The cravings for a giant glass of white wine that plagued me at the beginning of my pregnancy have been replaced with the craving for a giant caramel latte. Several times daily. (I would seriously mainline if I thought it would satisfy me, at this point.) Don’t get me wrong, internet, I need that giant white wine now more than I have ever needed a giant cocktail. Because I believe that my tolerance is now such that it might completely knock me out and shave a few hours off of this torturous game of “Waiting for Baby Without Murdering Anyone”.

I am pretty sure that Baby L outgrew my pelvis weeks ago. She seems still to be attempting to backstroke through her previously roomy environment, which causes a lot of doubling over on my part. And, you know, having the breath knocked out of me mid-sentence. And nausea.

I am growing increasingly terrified of delivery. I mean, I know the shit’s gonna hurt, y’all. Duh. But the longer the wait, the more I am dreading it. On the one hand, I say, “BRING IT, NATURE, I CAN TAKE THIS. AND I WILL TAKE YOU DOWN.” and on the other hand, I’m all like, “Would it be possible to borrow someone else’s vagina to do this with? I mean, come on, this is a joke, right?” As it turns out, y0u have to use your own vagina. Unless you used someone else’s uterus. And alas, I used my own. I am a moron.

As my due date not-so-rapidly approaches, I get a lot of messages from friends saying, “Baby?” or “When are you going to go into labor?”  And to them, I would like to say: I truly love you and appreciate all of your concern. But obviously, if you haven’t heard from me, I am still growing this little parasite and I don’t want to talk about it until she is officially OUT. And sleeping in a bassinet. And not in my rib cage. No offense. I just sort of want to grab an array of kitchen utensils and do some home surgery on myself at this point, and I just don’t have the patience to talk about how I am STILL FUCKING PREGNANT.  Did I mention that I love and appreciate you? I will call you when this thing gets going.

 

 

 

Related articles

Nine Months. A Total Lie.

You’ve all heard the phrase, “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all”, right?

Then you can understand, internet, why I haven’t been a regular, every day kind of blogger lately. But I am here today to make amends, (to some degree) so let me tell you right off the bat, internet, that your hair looks LOVELY today.

Ahem…

Today, I am 36 weeks pregnant. That, if you are doing the math, is NINE MONTHS. And if you believe what you have heard about pregnancy lasting nine months, then it would stand to reason that I would currently be IN LABOR. But…alas…I am not. (And that nine months of pregnancy thing? A total lie. They say that, but they are lying. 40 weeks does not equal nine months.) I am, however, dousing things in hot sauce to speed up the process. Heartburn or no heartburn. I can’t take anymore. I can’t remember who said to me, around week 25 or so in response to my inquiry about why pregnancy has to last so long, “At least you aren’t an elephant, they gestate for 22 months. That’s almost TWO YEARS!” but I would like to say to this person, a) SHUT THE FUCK UP and b) you have a point. My thoughts on this vary. BUT, the sentiment has stayed with me. And for the record, I am glad that I am not an elephant. And gestation really isn’t the only reason. Their skin looks painfully dry.

For lack of anything nice to say, here are a few notes on my 35th week:

1. My belly has seemingly doubled in size. Until now, strangers had been oblivious of “the bump” and had treated me just as rudely as they always had. This gave me a small amount of comfort because either they hadn’t noticed that I was knocked up (which essentially meant that I wasn’t nearly as gigantic as I thought) or that people were just as big of assholes to pregnant ladies (which made me feel less like I was handicapped in some way). MB and I went to a flea market last weekend as an attempt to get me out into the land of the living and while we were out and about, three people made conversation about my pregnancy. This was both unsettling (because I realized that I probably now AM as gigantic as I feel) and comforting (because people actually WERE nicer to me than before I was knocked up). I didn’t punch anyone. Not even the lady in the dairy section of the grocery store who yelled across the aisle at me to comment on how low the baby is sitting, judging from the shape of my belly.

2. I’m a bit snappy. Throughout the whole pregnancy, no matter how irritatign things were, I managed to refrain from snapping at MB. Like, almost, AT ALL (which, if you know me, is a total accomplishment). But now? All bets are off, internet. I will bite his head off. And if someone witnesses said head biting, I will bite their heads off as well. No one is safe. I am a loose cannon. (Which should make this baby shower I have to attend tomorrow interesting! HA!)

3. I hurt. Pretty much everywhere. I never understood how a tiny baby, kicking you in the ribs from the inside could be painful. And then it started happening to me. And then I started viewing it as some sort of karmic retribution for accidently dropping my sister when she was a baby. (It was totally an accident, I tried to lift her out of the bassinet because she was crying! Sheesh!) The back pain, I can handle. I am used to my back feeling like it is breaking in half. And the hip pain has mostly subsided (unless I am trying to sleep on my sides or walk through a parking lot).  But my muscles ache. And my head hurts. And the nausea HAS RETURNED. (Did you hear that, ladies?! NAUSEA. AGAIN!) And I am pretty sure that this child is already the size of a 12-year-old.

I am ready to do this thing.

Related articles

Getting our Shit Together

When the urge to nest hits you, it is difficult to think of much else. Over the last few weeks, I have had an increasingly strong urge to clean all things. Up high, down low. Pretty much everywhere. The problem with this nesting urge is that it comes at a time in my pregnancy where I am pretty much unable to maneuver my gigantic ass in order to clean these things. I can start a project, work at it for ten minutes or so, but then have to sit down and regain my breath and/or overall body function.

Yesterday, however, solely because MB is now aware that he is on “my fiance is pregnant and overly emotional house arrest”, we got a lot accomplished (read: HE got a lot accomplished, I dusted things that I didn’t have to squat to get to).  We were able to put together our adorable swing, the play yard and the stroller and clean the entire basic living area of the house from top to bottom. I feel relieved. Of course, there is still a lot to do, but progress is progress.

Now the dilemma for me is that we have this play yard just sitting in the middle of the living room as a constant reminder that I AM STILL PREGNANT. We don’t even have a BABY to put in this thing yet. And it makes me more impatient than I already was! (If that is possible.) It is hard enough not to be impatient when something is constantly kicking you in your bladder and reminding you of the days when you were empty and peed like normal people with normal sized bladders.

The next stop on the mother of all to-do lists is to pack my hospital bag. I am super ignorant as to what this bag should contain, however, and am worried that I will either forget something super important or pack like I am going on a vacation somewhere. I know that I don’t need to bring 32 pairs of shoes and I am in no danger of packing a bikini (because I cringe at the thought of THIS body in a bikini), but I am pretty sure I will pack like I always do. Like a crazy person. Because you never know how many sundresses you will need after giving birth. You know…necessities. A friend suggested that I check out a website that has a check list for this type of thing, so I guess that will my plan for tomorrow. I will have to try and work it in between my bouts of intense anxiety.

My mood is, however, improving. I didn’t even burst into tears yesterday. Not even once! And today, when I woke up to find that bees had invaded one of our bathrooms, I did not panic and did not become a profanity-screaming lunatic. I calmly explained to MB that, the buzzing sound I thought was the result of a common house fly stuck between the blinds and the window pane was actually about ten bees which had taken over the bathroom. Then I called my landlord, who is on vacation and probably doing Easter things with his grandchildren and calmly explained that this is not cool at all and that I am terrified of bees and chemicals used to kill bees and that exterminators are busy eating ham and searching for Easter eggs and cannot be bothered, but kindly asked that he have someone fix this tomorrow morning (or I will surely go insane). In the meantime, MB attacked the bathroom armed with some sort of spray and a shoe and all seems to be good for the time being. (And he only got stung one time!) Phew.

God, I am exhausted.

 

 

Related articles

Baby Update and a Near Breakdown

I’ve officially made it to 34 weeks. I am officially EIGHT AND A HALF MONTHS PREGNANT. And if saying that outloud doesn’t make me feel like a fat-ass, I don’t know what would.

The last week has been a total clusterfuck. (I know I said I would stop saying the f-word but the fetus can’t read, people. And I am TYPING, not SPEAKING.) I started out really excited because we were looking forward to our final ultrasound on Wednesday. I think that Baby L was even excited for us to see her because it seemed she did a constant happy dance for three days straight.

On Wednesday, MB and I had a lovely day. Baby L, however still as uncooperative as ever and not removing her tiny fingers from in front of her face so we could get a good look, looked perfect and is weighing in at 5 pounds 5 ounces, which the tech said is completely normal. MB was excited to get to be at this appointment because he has missed almost every other one because of his insane work schedule. Baby L stuck her tongue out in the middle of the ultrasound and then let out a big yawn as if to say, “YES. I am as bored of this gestation period as you are. Anyone have some cards?” MB and I spent the rest of the afternoon checking out thrift stores to see if we could find anything useful. We didn’t. But we had a pretty fun time, aside from my very slow-paced waddling and hip pain. (Which, we are told is due to the change in Baby L’s position. She is now a lot lower and putting a lot of pressure on my nether-region and pelvis. Hooray!) We ended our afternoon with some Rita’s deliciousness. (Which actually seemed to cure my heartburn!!! SWEET BABY JESUS, I may have found a cure! And a super tasty one at that!)

Yesterday, though, I woke up before 8am with the most severe hip and lower back pain that I have had yet. I decided not to get out of bed at all. And then I started to cry. Because there is nothing worse than having all of this free time and so much to get done and no energy or stamina or…you know…hips…to do all of it with. By the time MB got home, I had gotten out of bed and even managed to cook a very lazy meal for MB and venture out for a necessary shopping trip. A really quick one. But I was a zombie. I felt an overwhelming sense of something. Not dread, exactly. And not frustration, completely. And not only sadness. It was like a mix of powerlessness, hopelessness and loss all at the same time. Why? I don’t know. Maybe because I know I won’t feel normal again for several weeks and I might not ever accomplish the baseboard cleaning that I am desperately yearning to do. Or maybe because I will never have a day again where not getting out of bed is an option. Or maybe just because I am a pregnant, emotional wreck with only 40-something days until she does the biggest, most important thing in the whole world and the uncertainty is starting to wear her down. Who knows?

And though I thought today would be better. And it was. For exactly three hours. And then MB said that he was thinking about going to have a drink with a friend after work today. And then I became that psychopath that I was about the unfolded laundry that one time. And I thought to myself, “Who does he think he is? Beer is not an option! We have six weeks left and I’ll be damned if that jerk gets to drink beer while I sit here and patiently wait to pop this damn kid out. Without so much as a cigarette! Are you kidding me?!” And then I got angry that he had had the audacity to suggest such a thing. And then I got depressed that he wanted to leave and hang out with his friend while I am creating LIFE in my BODY and can barely lift my fat ass from the couch! And you can probably (especially if you are or have been pregnant) see where this is going to end up…where I am hysterically sobbing and snotting all over the place wondering if this child will ever come and if I will ever feel like a normal person again. And if MB will even come home from work today because, after all, I am a complete lunatic and why would he want to be with a lunatic?  Even if this lunatic is cooking his kid! You ladies know the drill…I don’t need to go any further.

Of course, MB (having done nothing wrong AT ALL) has since apologized for suggesting such a ridiculous thing as trying to maintain a social life while I am pregnant and I have showered all the tears and ridiculousness away and am feeling better. (I have to say, I am not sure I feel better because of the apology. Or the shower. Or the fact that “Dirty Dancing” is on TV.) I am no longer hyperventilating and can recognize that I am just sick and tired of being sick and tired and am ready to get a move on. But in the meantime, I am really going to need MB to just stay chained to my side so I don’t lose it. Is that so much to ask?

Related articles

A Little Crazy, but Mostly Grateful

It has been ridiculously easy for me to find things about pregnancy to bitch about, which I am sure that some of you understand all too well. I have, between the heartburn, the pain of ten hammers banging against my pelvis (sometimes for days straight), the lack of sleep, and many, many other things, been pretty uncomfortable and, a lot of times really stressed and really unhappy. I have dreamed, since the day that I found out I was expecting, of the day that I would get this kid out of me. The reason, at the beginning, that I wanted her out, was because I wanted to feel normal. I wanted to sit on the porch at sunset and drink cocktails and talk to my girlfriends on the phone. I wanted to go to the dive bar down the street with MB and smoke cigarettes and listen to mediocre live music. I wanted a bloody mary with my breakfast on Sundays, for Christ’s  sake. I wanted my life to remain unchanged from the way it had been for the last several years.  And I couldn’t believe that I would have to sacrifice nine whole months of my life to grow this kid. And that I would have to do it with no breaks. NO BREAKS.

I still want this baby out, internet. SO BADLY. And not just because I want a cocktail (but oh.my.god, do I want a cocktail). I want to hold her and nibble on her tiny fingers and toes. And rock her to sleep. And see her expression the first time she eats peas. (Her father hates peas and his expression, while hysterical, isn’t cutting it anymore.)

It took me a long time to get excited about this pregnancy. And then it took even longer to admit that I had started to get excited about it. I guess because no one expects any of this from me. I got all mommy-fied, seemingly overnight and surprised even me.  I still find myself awake in the middle of the night, terrified and on the verge of breakdown. But then I remember how much I have overcome in my life and how strong I am. And then I remember how lucky I am to be doing this with MB, and with the help of my amazingly supportive family and friends. And I know I, with their help, can do it.  I feel confident that the people in my life right now are the right people. I feel that I am finally at a point where every relationship I have is healthy and reciprocal and I feel…damn fortunate.  And now, to top everything off, I am gonna have a little person all for myself. That I MADE.  And that still blows my mind.

With my due date less than three months away, I am starting to feel, though ill-prepared, that this is all coming together. I have cut people out of my life who were self-absorbed and self-involved and have started to focus on me. And my little family-to-be. And I might be an emotional wreck sometimes, and I might go completely insane because I can’t wear pants that don’t come up to my eyebrows, and I might even start crying because my DVR didn’t record the newest Law and Order: SVU episode. But at the end of the day, it’s all good. I have a lot of things to be grateful for right now.

And who am I kidding? Law and Order: SVU reruns are on all day, every day.

Related articles

The Bump

Well, ladies and gents, it is official. I look like a giant, pregnant beast.

Over the weekend, MB and I decided that, on our way back from our lovely day of “playing tourist” in nearby St. Augustine, we would stop by the outlet mall on the way home. I had no idea how many baby stores there are in that place! I guess when you don’t have any reason to pay attention to baby stores, you don’t really notice that they even exist. And I definitely, before now, have never wanted anything to do with these places. Anyway, we bought about 300 little outfits for the wee one and one of them actually made me BURST INTO TEARS. Yes, I cried like a bitch at the mere SIGHT of an adorable little newborn outfit. And then I wanted to thrown myself into traffic. I did not. I, instead, put the item back on the rack and exited the store as fast as my gigantic body could do so.

Then we went into a maternity store.

I was super excited at the idea of possibly finding some semi-stylish clothing that might actually flatter my baby bump rather than making me look like…a house. I tried on 23 pairs of jeans, each one fitting stranger than the last, and ended up leaving with a bra the size of the entire Pacific Northwest, and a pair of those jeans that come up to your neck.

I was overly body-conscious many times in my life before becoming pregnant. And I am no stranger to being totally disgusted with my reflection, but generally, I can recognize that most of this insecurity is in my head. I do know, intellectually, that I am an attractive person. Big ass or not. (As it turns out, lots of people like a big ass!) I have naturally blonde hair and big, blue eyes. I have cute-ish freckles on my nose and cheeks and my eyelashes go for days. I am physically pretty. And on many levels, I know this. I KNOW IT, but I don’t always SEE it.

Being pregnant has made it harder to recognize the things about myself that I have always appreciated. Sure, my blonde hair is thicker and feels fantastic. And my cheeks do sort of glow with that tell-tale pregnant lady rosiness. And even though they make me FEEL a bit bovine, my boobs look pretty damn fantastic. But I can’t help but just feel huge. Huge and unattractive and anxious. I think that, having had body issues my whole life, adjusting to this weight gain and shape-changing has been more painful for me than anything else. My anxiety about being in public grows with my belly. I tend to feel that, without MB, who constantly tells me that I am the most beautiful thing in the world, I cannot brave the world outside. I don’t want strangers to stare at my midsection or try to touch me (because, unpreggos, it is NEVER appropriate to touch strangers’ bellies, I cannot stress this enough!) Up until now, I could convince myself to be confident all on my own. Now I sort of just want to shrink away until this baby is out. OUT!

Yesterday, I cried while I got dressed. And I may have just been having one of those over-emotional pregnant lady days, but it definitely felt like my chest was about to cave in. I am hoping that I start to make progress on accepting my body the way it is. Because I really do INTELLECTUALLY know that the worst is yet to come. The belly is going to continue to grow and the pants will continue to stretch and then, in what seems like years from now, I will finally get this thing out of my abdomen and hopefully start my journey back to my, slightly overweight but pretty damn adorable pre-pregnancy self.

All of this crazy is the main reason that, up until last week, I wouldn’t even take a picture of myself because I couldn’t bear for there to be photographic evidence that this is what I look like. In attempt to get over myself, here I am Internet. Baby bump and all. (exhale……)

20120112-094312.jpg

A Comparison of Symptoms…

In my first trimester, I kept reading about how the second one is soooo much better and that I would have energy and an appetite and would feel like a million bucks in comparison to the first few months of pregnancy. I believed this hype, thinking that there is no way that the second trimester could rival the first in terms of general discomfort. I was sort of wrong, you guys. With the second trimester came a bunch more fun symptoms, and I am not sure which ones are worse.

First Trimester:

1.Okay, so there was the “morning sickness”. All of us preggos know that the term “morning sickness” is a term used to describe the extreme nausea and vomiting that come along with the first trimester changes to your body. I believe that whomever decided it was a good idea to term it “morning sickness” was an asshole (and probably a man) who wanted to trick women into thinking that this discomfort would only last for a short period of the day. Like, from the hours of 8am to 11:59am.  This is a total lie. “Morning sickness” occurs all day long. And sometimes continuously for the entire day. And sometimes, if you are really, really lucky, it lasts beyond the first trimester.

2. Effing heartburn. Holy Jeebus. I used to get heartburn once or twice a year. When it happened, it was unbearably painful and, of course, because I got it so infrequently, I was always unprepared for it and it made me want to kill myself and/or eat an entire bottle of antacids. During my first trimester, the heartburn became daily. Several times, each day. And it was excrutiating and made me not only want to kill myself, but also those around me.

3. FATNESS accompanied by insatiable hunger for really disgusting food that you would never in your life ingest in these quantities. You get fat. Period.

4. Mood swings. Okay, okay. I know. I am insane. Leave it alone.

There are a whole host of other ridiculous and horrible things that happen to your body during this time but I think we all know what we are talking about here. These were the worst for me.

SECOND TRIMESTER:

1. Morning Sickness. You are told this will end, so you begin to feel hopeful and  less suicidal. You still carry saltines in your purse. You will pretend not to need them and will sometimes have to open your car door at traffic lights and vomit outside. But you will not be discouraged. This is the second trimester! This is supposed to be UTOPIA.

2. Heartburn. WILL IT EVER END?! You have been swallowing fire for months and are starting to believe that you could be an ACTUAL fire eater! After all, you should be paid for this sort of agony.

3. FATNESS.  You will get bigger and bigger until you feel you might explode. You will see other pregnant women who seem to enjoy their “baby bumps” but in studying your own, have noticed that, not only is it not as cute on you, but that appears to have doubled in size over the last two hours.

4. THE PAIN! This is a new one. You will never, EVER be comfortable again. You cannot sleep on your back because it restricts bloodflow to the baby, you cannot sleep on your stomach because it will feel like a) you are sleeping on a grapefruit and b) you are smashing your child, you cannot sleep on your right side because your right hip cannot support the weight of your GIGANTIC belly and you cannot sleep on your left side because…well…YOU CANNOT SLEEP ON YOUR LEFT SIDE! Your back will burn from the pain of carrying another PERSON around with you all day, every day for many months. Your head will pound from the lack of sleep you have had over the last several days (weeks?) and you cannot take drugs. Did you hear me?! YOU CANNOT TAKE DRUGS!

5. Mood swings. Check! (But don’t you dare bring it up. I will cry.)

Keep in mind, I was in a fairly severe car accident six years ago wherein I tore some disks in my back, so back pain is not new.

BUT YOU CANNOT TAKE DRUGS!

Please tell me it gets better! AHHHH!

On a sidenote: EAT THESE COOKIES! Holy crap!

On Being a Psychopath

I’ve always heard pregnant or previously pregnant women talk about the mood swings that they experienced during pregnancy and likened it to demon posession. This really didn’t seem so outlandish to me as I, having been raised by my mother (possibly the most hormonal and undermedicated person ON. THE. PLANET) have always been a bit of a high-strung broad, myself. I could totally understand overreacting about spilled milk. Or…whatever.

What I didn’t realize is that, HOLY SHIT, PEOPLE, pregnancy hormones are NOT A JOKE.

I have a gift of realizing, even in the midst of extreme overreaction, when I am being unreasonable. For this reason, as a pregnant woman, not only am I terrifying, but I am also, just…well…a mess.

1. I cry at commercials. Okay, to be honest, this isn’t completely new. Several years ago, there was a cell phone commercial starring a country singer going home to surprise her father on Christmas. This commercial made me lose my shit regularly. I blame this mostly on the fact that my dad lives halfway across the world and the only time I see him on/around Christmas is if someone dies. (NO joke.) But now, it isn’t just the sappy cell phone commercials starring country music icons and their fathers, (speaking of fathers, I just got a text from mine…weird) and it isn’t just the holiday Publix commercials with all the happy families celebrating together. Now, internet, I cry at pet food commercials. The sight of someone’s beloved dog or cat makes me a ball of emotions. And then I immediately have to find my cat and cuddle him until he bites my face off (roughly 3.75 seconds). Most of the time, the commercial crying happens when I am the only one home, so no one sees it and I can keep this under wraps for the time being (unless you read this. Then you know I am a super big nutcase.)

2. Things that have consistently made me a little irritated in the past, have become LIFE ALTERING, EMERGENT CRISES. The other day I had a full-on panic attack because My Beloved went to a friend’s house after work, smelled like he had had a beer (yes, I can tell it was one because my sense of smell is INSANE, along with the rest of me) and had been smoking and then wanting to go out and play pool later that night with said friend. Okay, I have an explanation for this, and it may not be logical if you have a penis or have never been pregnant, but, it is mine and I stand by it.

Ahem…

a) I miss cigarettes more than anything in the entire universe. I think that I crave cigarettes more than I crave McDoubles, which is just ridiculous, by the way. I have to, on a daily basis, convince myself that I cannot go to the gas station and buy a pack of cigarettes and smoke myself into a nicotine coma. So, when HE smokes, I could murder him. And I don’t mean like, poisoning murder, I mean the painful kind of murder. Involving knives or Chinese torture.

b) I can’t stand the smell of alcohol on My Beloved. It is disgusting. And I love to drink when I am not knocked up. I just can’t take the odor now. And he rarely drinks, but when he does, he smells like ASS. And it makes me want to make him sleep outside.

c) I feel that, since I am home all day, ALONE, with no contact with any other human beings (because my friends all work), he should stay here once he gets here. I mean, the least he could do while I am chained to our house and growing his spawn is stay home and entertain me. Fuuuuuuck.

d) I feel that, if I can’t drink, smoke, or hang out with friends, neither can he. He knocked me up, he should suffer right alongside me.

3. I desperately miss normalcy and being social. My dilemma? I don’t want to see my non-pregnant friends because they get to do whatever they want and have lives outside of laundry and heartburn and I am jealous. And also because I feel disgusting, fat and really uncomfortable (to the point almost of depression) in my new body, I can’t stand to see them NOT out of breath after taking 13 steps to cross a sidewalk or running to the bathroom every other minute.

4. MB has a problem with laundry. This issue has existed for our entire relationship thus far and it always annoyed me. The fact is, he doesn’t mind DOING his laundry, but he immediately upon removing it from the dryer, places it into a basket where it will stay for the rest of its life. This basket will live in the closet in our spare bedroom with the 3 or 4 other baskets full of clean laundry in said closet until MB is looking for one, specific item of clothing. At this time, he will remove baskets from the closet and dump them on any surface available, search through the massive pile and then, usually, leave for work. The massive pile of clothing will remain untouched until I either put it away or have a complete meltdown wherein I threaten to throw all of his clothing into the trash. Up until now, this promise of disposing of clothing has been an empty one. Today, while searching for a piece of my own laundry and realizing that it could be in one of the 76 baskets in our spare bedroom, I had the biggest meltdown of all. One basket had already been dumped

20111222-114006.jpg

onto the bed and three others peered at me from inside the closet. I dumped every, single one of them on the bed and fumed for 45 minutes until receiving a call from my other pregnant friend who assured me that I am not alone in my crazy and that it only gets worse. But reminded me, also, that this crazy is not my fault and that if I kill MB, there is a good possibility that I will deliver my baby in prison. And I am way too cute for prison.

A warning to My Beloved: If you would not like to move onto the porch, I suggest that your clothes find a home. Not a basket. Stat!