My apologies for not writing in a while, I’ve been growing a human which makes me grumpy and sleepy. Basically starting to turn into Snow White’s dwarfs with the exception of Dopy because I can’t have booze. With makes me even more grumpy.
I haven’t had anything going on that’s super exciting , so I decided to talk about pregnancy since it’s literally the only thing I think about these days. That and GETTING HIM OUT.
Let’s face it, at the end of your pregnancy you are not the happiest camper. Your crotch hurts, your back aches and in some cases you’re still throwing up your morning coffee. People will mean well when they say phrases like this one that makes me want to throw them against a wall.
” It will all be worth it when you see that sweet baby.”
Yes. No shit Sherlock. That’s why I even let my husband three feet from me when I’m ovulating. I know all this will be worth it, but it doesn’t make it easy.
This sweet squishy baby will erase all this pain, so I’m writing this out to remind myself what comes before all the cuteness.
” OMG. You’re SO tiny!”
This is a sweet comment, but when you hear it almost everyday it makes you want to lift up your shirt and show the world how large your belly really is. Large shirts cover big bellies people. I am not a large woman in general, and do not grow 9 pound babies. I can’t birth a Sasquatch. Believe me, this baby is big.
The next person that says that has to break my water.
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I love children. I love babies. I love giving birth. I’m about as maternal as they make them. I can have a milk let down reflex when it’s not even my baby crying. I can sniff out a newborn a mile away at a shopping mall. I do not love being pregnant.
How is this even possible? I’m maternal in EVERY OTHER aspect of my life, but not this one.
The first few kicks are so sweet and then you just want them to mature and get out of your uterus.
When it comes down to the point where you cannot successfully wipe your own vagina when you pee, it’s time for them to come forth. Dignity and self pride completely go out the window when you are 8 months pregnant. The small things don’t matter anymore, but rolling from your left side to your right side in bed is like Moses parting the Red Sea. Lots of prayer, strength and nay sayers doubting you can do it as your husband rolls you with one hand as you moan in pain.
“Babe are you ok?”
” You can never touch me again. Enjoy your full night’s rest. I have to pee.”
Sometimes I think to myself – I know a few people that could benefit from being pregnant, just so that their pride could be shaken a bit. Maybe they would pee on themselves while vomiting, be miserable for a few minutes, but in the end be nicer to people. Have more empathy for others.
Sort of like this Reality TV show for jerks. If I see this come out on TLC I’ll know one of you stole this idea. Then I will do nothing about it because I will have four kids.
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In these last few hours, days or weeks I have of being pregnant for the last time I will try to enjoy the following:
The sensation that my baby is waving at me, just straight out my crotchular region.
Involuntarily peeing on myself when I sneeze, laugh , or the baby kicks.
My butt getting larger by the second, until no more leggings fit and I’m forced to wear no pants at all.
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I have to go now and schedule my husband’s vasectomy appointment.
