Here’s my weekly pregnancy post, which you can find at http://herdaily.com/parenting/
Today, I’m six months pregnant. I have something the size of an ear of corn living inside of me. That is a very big size of something to be living inside of you. We had a check-up yesterday and got to see our little lady, who always plays shy for the camera. I love her. And I’m really ready for her to be out here and not in there.
I’m almost done with my second trimester and I’ve never reached the promise lands.
For those of you unfamiliar with the different phases of pregnancy, there is an urban legend out there that the second trimester of pregnancy is a glorious place, full of unicorns and no morning sickness (and an increased appetite for, um, “attention’ from your spouse). During the second trimester, you are rich with energy and spend your days giving off the most heavenly glow of pregnancy. You have a perfect bump and your feet aren’t swollen. Your pre-pregnancy jeans fit with the help of a belly band and your t-shirts are snug, but look precious covering up that stomach of yours. Everything is glorious, perfect. You are woman, creating life. Things couldn’t possibly be better.
I’ve labeled that rumor as an urban legend because I have yet to experience it. I doubt I will.
I will even go a step further and admit something that I haven’t heard many say — being pregnant sort of sucks.
Now, before you go ahead and rip me a new one as you lecture me on what a precious gift I am about to receive — trust me. I get it. And I started this post saying I already love little Lady S., correct? I’d puke every day for nine months (which I may end up doing anyways) if it meant bringing our happy, healthy daughter into this world.
But that’s where I want her — here.
I haven’t yet had a glorious day of pregnancy. I had a wicked first trimester. I woke up the morning of my second trimester with the hopes that things worked like a Disney movie. Perhaps a little blue bird was going to come to my window and sing away all my pregnancy troubles.
No such luck.
I’m tired. I’m so damn tired. And I know — I’ll be tired after I have the baby, too. But here’s the thing — at least there is a reason to justify that tired. You’re caring for an infant. You’re chasing a toddler around all day. Right now, I spend much of my time sitting at a desk. But I leave work every day craving a three hour nap.
And food? We’re frenemies nowadays. I spend nearly all of my waking hours despising it — the smells, the textures. Everything turns me off. Then, around 9:00 every night, I want to eat everything. Except nothing ever sounds good. Do you even understand that frustration?! (But if you’re my husband, don’t answer that. It may frustrate you more than it frustrates me.)
I wake up 3 – 5 times a night to pee.
I’ve gained weight and my pre-pregnancy pants have been relegated to a bottom drawer because they no longer fit my pudgey (NOT bump-tastic) stomach. But maternity pants? They don’t fit yet either! I feel like Goldilocks, except nothing ever fits just right.
I’m grouchy. I’m moody. I cry over everything.
They say the best things in life are worth waiting for, right? Gosh, that’s a lot of pressure to put on an infant.
(She better not let me down.)
(Not really kidding.)
My latest pregnancy post on HerDaily.com, in case you missed it —
We were simply sitting on the couch, watching TV. The Husband turned to me, smiled and said “I love you.”
Tearing up, I told him I loved him too.
He started to laugh. “Are you going to cry? Why are you crying?”
“I don’t know. Because I’m happy. I don’t know. I’m having a rough week.”
“Buddy, you’re having a rough pregnancy,” he said as he gave me a hug.
He was right. I knew that my hormones would be all over the place while pregnant. And I’m a pretty emotional person to begin with. But I just never made the connection; never assumed that I’d be one of those pregnant ladies, crying several times a day. Crying ateverything.
I’ve cried because I told the dog he smelled but then felt sad that I hurt his feelings.
I’ve cried while watching a woman deliver her surrogate baby (which was really hers) on a soap opera.
I’ve cried because the sheets didn’t fit our bed the right way.
I’ve cried because I wanted to eat a red apple and all we had were green apples.
I’ve cried because I was happy to see my husband come home after a long day at work.
I’ve cried because raw chicken now makes me throw up and so I felt guilty that I couldn’t cook dinner.
I’ve cried because, while at a festival, a woman told me that fresh lemonade was $4 — which was the exact amount of cash I had on me. But then I found out that it was really $5, so no lemonade for me.
I’ve cried because I wanted to have Pizza Hut breadsticks and salad bar for dinner, but ours was closed. To settle me down, The Husband drove to another Pizza Hut — but that one was closed, too. (Plan = backfired.)
I’ve cried as I was unpacking groceries because I realized that the mini-muffins I just bought had an expiration date of two weeks and I thought that the grocery store was trying to pull a fast one on me.
There are times when I suddenly feel a surge of emotion — either sorrow or elation, and begin to cry. Nothing has prompted these moments. They simply are. And that’s hard to explain to my husband, who is very proactive. If I’m crying because I want a red apple and we only have green, he’ll offer to go out and buy me a red apple. He’ll drive to all of the Pizza Huts in a fifty mile radius. But when there’s nothing to fix, he feels a bit lost. Luckily, we’ve both realized that all I need is a long hug and the tears will soon pass.
I hope that same tactic can be used on our daughter.