You know, this miracle of life process that I’m going through sure has a happy ending, however, getting to that magic moment of delivery is cruel, painful, and not only makes most of my own day and night miserable, but affects the happy day-in and day-out of my poor hubby as well. It’s a cruel joke to us both, and if the ending wasn’t so worth it, I’m pretty sure no one would decide to ever give birth again.
The joke’s on us:
- Vom. For the first 10-12 weeks of pregnancy, we feel barfy, sick, purely horrible. Pregnant women need to know where the nearest bathroom, trashcan, and water source is at all times. If we’re not constantly snacking in order to stave off the barfiness, we’re not eating at all because our stomachs can’t bear to handle anything resembling food. Well, maybe except for ice cream.
- Poop, or lack thereof. From day one of both of my pregnancies I have stopped this function entirely, or as close to that as you can get. I haven’t even taken as many poops as weeks I am pregnant, and I’m 11 weeks pregnant. Do the math. TMI? Deal, I’m hormonal and want to share. And when I finally do get the satisfaction of relief, I usually spend equal time plunging and questioning whether I need stitches. Again, TMI? Deal.
- Pregnancy Brain. For those of you who think that this is all some weird thing that pregnant people make up, make no mistake, it is real. It’s as though half of your brain functions have been shut off, and you’re left to go about your daily routine and thought processes with little brain cells to get you through it. No joke, it’s like I’m learning English for the first time, sometimes. I spend more time thinking about what word I’m trying to use then I do actually talking. I actually calculated an entire budget for a half a million dollar project the other day carrying 1.25+1.25=3.5 the ENTIRE way through.
- Fat. And no, I don’t mean that adorable round belly that we get after about 4 or 5 months. I mean the muffin top, full bulge that appears the second we get that positive test. And for the next 4 months we then have to hide it, or else it’s obvious to the surrounding world that we’re fat and need to work out and eat less. It doesn’t even occur to someone that we’re pregnant, because this fat positions itself perfectly as a tire around the top of our jeans.
- Douchery. Is that a word? When I say I’m a douche now, it’s no lie. And since I can’t ever be mean to anyone, the brunt of this douchebaggery goes to Dave, because who else am I going to give it to? Do the dishes wrong? You’ll get my wrath. Want to make a joke about how my pajamas are too short? You’re asking for divorce. Seriously. I guess he deserves it though since I’m the one who has to feel barfy and pop the button off my jeans. He’s just as much to blame for this situation.
- Acid. Heartburn. Offensive eruptions. It’s bad enough that I pop Tums like tic tacs, but the noises that come out of me while I’m dealing with the burning should make my co-workers run for cover. Sometimes my stomach is so loud that I’m not only nervous for myself, but definitely for everyone around me. You never know what’s coming.
- Pure.Neverending.Exaustion. Need I say more? There aren’t enough hours in the day to catch up on the sleep that I feel that I’m missing. And no matter how much I sleep, I’m still on the couch almost passed out by 8 pm every night. And nodding off by 2 pm at my desk.
- GAS. I won’t get too detailed here. But picture a lack of pooping for a week or more, acid in your belly, and a barfy feeling. Nothing good can come out of any of this, nor my ass.
- SEX. I’m not a very sexual person to start with, unless there’s wine or procreation involved. But at least I was up for it enough to give Dave his every-other-night satisfaction and keep him happy at home. Now? I’d pretty much rather eat off my left arm and only poop every two weeks than get naked and satisfy my man. Even if it literally only means laying there. For 2 minutes. Even that is too much to ask of me these days. Don’t worry, I take one for the team a couple times a week, but seriously….
- Labor. They don’t call it labor for nothing. It hurts. And does crazy things to your body. When the nurses told me it was time for the epidural for Owen’s birth, I was shivering, convulsing, and dry heaving. My body didn’t like what was happening. It sure did like the epidural though. And then, if the pain in your uterus isn’t enough, you gotta get that big head through your pubic bone and a hole the size of a grapefruit. Somehow it happens, but it’s not easy, and not pleasant.
Again, we go through it, and somehow forget it all after these babies pop out of our vajajays. And though the joke is on us and we have to deal with these unpleasurable occurences for 9 months, we have God to thank for magically erasing the memories of this from our minds within minutes of the birthing process. Because, how else would any of us eventually decide to do this again?