I made myself a promise, you guys. A promise back months ago when I was lying sleepily in my husband's arms discussing expanding our little family. A promise that the next time I got pregnant I wouldn't complain. Not even a little bit. Because creating life is a beautiful thing. And I should be so lucky to get to experience it all again.
Needless to say, now I consider it a good day if I resist the impulse to set everyone and everything on fire.
And we're only on week 12.
But no. No, there I go being all negative again. I mean, I'm building a life, cell by cell! If you think about it, the way pregnancy changes your entire body, mind and soul really is an amazing expression of love. Some might say the ultimate expression of love.
I mean, pffft. Who can complain in the face of something that powerful?
It's just these constant headaches, you know? And the puking. Oi, so much puking. Not just nausea but full-on "The Exorcist" re-enactments (complete with the colorful language). I never had that with my first born. They say that every pregnancy is different. But my suspicion is that they say this because they're too polite to say the truth (that truth, of course, being that every pregnancy sucks, but each one sucks in its own unique way).
And this one sucks in that "I wake up every morning feeling like I have the flu AND a hangover" way.
But no, no. The whole process really is miraculous. I need to remember that. A mere nine months of some discomfort in exchange for a perfect tiny creature with your eyes and his mouth and tootsies so cute you just have to stuff 'em in your mouth or else die? Sounds like some pretty good math to me.
Then again, I always did get C's in algebra. I mean, do you know what it's like to have to pretend to be human when in actuality all you are at this point is a bloated walking ball of raging hormones and ginger ale? What it's like to have to interact with other humans when every time you sit down it's like you got hit by a tranquilizer dart? Like, people expect me to care about ridiculous things like deadlines and bills and basic hygiene when it's taking all my self-control not to curl up and fall asleep at their feet like some sad, hairless, always slightly sweaty dog.
Not to mention, when you say hello to me now, I can instantly tell you everything you ate and drank that day. It's the worst superpower ever.
But there I go again. Complaining. I mean, I got my wish. I'm pregnant! I wanted this with all my heart! Or at the very least, three-quarters of my heart! (The other quarter is still mourning the loss of my post-night-night time cocktail).
And just think of all the wonderful upsides to pregnancy. The gigantic boobs that spring up out of nowhere seemingly overnight. Eating steak for breakfast. The knowledge that you have a tiny Mesagog-esque tadpole/gummy bear hybrid growing inside you. The…um…well, I know I already mentioned the boobs, but seriously, they just become a work of art.
In fact, it almost makes up for all the bosom area soreness and tenderness you also experience. And the industrial strength farting. And the craving for half a gallon of milk even though your doctor told you to slow down with the first trimester weight gain because in all her years as an OB-GYN, your weight gain is, quote, "unprecedented."
And then there's the constipation & MAJOR FARTS,
And the sausage fingers.
And the having to pee every 11 minutes.
And the uncontrollable sobbing because there's only one donut left in the box and it looks so lonely and you just wish it had a friend and so you know you have to eat it so it's no longer alone but you're already a fatty fat mcfatty face.
And I look forward to sharing this amazing journey with all of you. Especially those of you who can help chip in for my bail when I finally do lose it and light someone on fire.