The Ugly Truth

So, I’m pregnant again. I’m just starting to wrap my head around the idea after getting used to the plan that we were going to become parents again via foster care. It has been both exciting and overwhelming, especially because I am much too old to be pregnant. MUCH too old. I don’t know what we were thinking getting ourselves in to this.

So I’m trying to abate my fears by focusing on the positive. Here’s a list I made for just that purpose:   

What I Love About Being Pregnant

Thick, glossy, luxurious hair. Pantene models have got nothing on me.

Strangers telling me I am glowing.

Naps.

Being encouraged to eat whatever I want, whenever I want.

Feeling the baby kick, especially for the first time.

Actual photo of me taken as I was eating a typical pregnancy-breakfast.

That being said, if we are really being honest here there are a few negative, albeit minor, things about having a bun in the oven. Which led me to my second list:

Things I Hate About Being Pregnant

People giving me The Look; the one that says, “Is she pregnant or just suddenly fat?”

Strangers rubbing my belly.

Friends rubbing my belly.

This is how I feel when I am pregnant.

The acne of a 15 year old boy.

Being perpetually tired. Bone tired.

Dealing with the insurance company. I know, this one is never fun. But try it when you are eight weeks pregnant and hormonal and they can’t get your billing right let alone call you back even though they’ve been promising to do so every day for three weeks.

Panty liners (Come on, we all know why. Don’t make spell it out.)

Super-nose. My husband’s scent was so strong I couldn’t kiss him. Not his BO, not his cologne, just his scent that I have happily lived with every day for nearly four years. I couldn’t pucker up without…

Dry heaving. Twice a day every day for ten weeks. And when the dry heaving stopped...

Food cravings. I ate an entire bag of Doritos in two days (which I never, ever eat). I am not proud of this. Also, I was pretty sure I was going to die if I couldn’t have chile relleno, so I did, and immediately became vigorously ill.

Sideburns. Yes, I am growing sideburns. There. I said it. Move along people.

Me in six weeks time.

Doula shopping. This one was a disappointment because I was really looking forward to interviewing doulas. So far I have turned down a woman who literally couldn’t understand the questions I was asking her, a woman who told me she was screening calls to dodge creditors and a chain smoker. True story. 

Maternity wear. Who designs this stuff? Sadists? And even after spending a small fortune in a maternity boutique where the sales lady swore I don’t look like a whale tented in cotton knits still…

Nothing fits, especially…

The humongous underwear I am reduced (no pun intended) to wearing.

I tried this on at the mall. The fit was a little snug but the vertical stripes were very slimming. 

Heartburn.

Round ligament pain (aren’t they round enough?!?!?!)

Braxton Hicks contractions.

Sciatica.

Sneezing (see panty liners, above).

Elephant legs (which go perfectly with the circus tent!).

Waddling.  

All right, all right, I hate being pregnant. Hate it. Which makes me a terrible person because I have pretty unremarkable pregnancies (knock wood).  My sister-in-law had four children despite having hyperemesis gravidarum, which makes her a virtual superhero, and I whine because I am a little uncomfortable. But there it is.

My stupid superhero sister-in-law and her gorgeous family. Way to make me feel inadequate, Bess. 

I think the thing I hate most is that when I’m pregnant I can’t do whatever I want whenever I want. My body isn’t, you know, mine. I can’t eat delicious, unpasteurized cheeses, or sushi (veggie, but potentially tainted with raw fish germs) or even have eggs over easy for breakfast (my comfort food). I can’t work because I can’t risk getting a dog bite because I can’t be on antibiotics. My whole life is reduced to reading labels and referring clients to other behaviorists. I start to feel like a caged animal and imagine doing things I would NEVER do in real life.

So remember, if all of a sudden I start talking about learning how to free dive or start organizing an underwater spelunking club or take up skydiving, it is only because I am pregnant. It’ll pass*.

*in only 23 more weeks, give or take.

Ooo! Gator wrestling! That sounds fun! Who's in?