People keep asking me how I’m feeling, so I’m here to tell you. I’ll give you the real scoop, too, like I don’t when asked in person: pregnancy really doesn’t stop sucking. At least for me. I’ll try to put a positive spin on it for people I don’t know that well. But the reality is that I had about a month of thinking this is magical before my symptoms ramped up again. I’m so uncomfortable that some days I’d really like to have a cathartic cry.
I feel like that’s not seemly for the strong mama I want to be, though, so I’ve been refraining.
First trimester was back pain, bronchitis, and nausea. The cough never really went away, though it became manageable in trimester 2. I felt much better (though still not as good as I usually feel as a non-pregnant lady).
I’m 2 weeks away from trimester 3, and I now have insane pelvic pain that makes it hard to walk. Or stand. Or turn over in bed. I’m already perfecting the pregnancy waddle even though the kid isn’t that big. The only known cure for the aches and pains? Birth. Which is the same as the gestational diabetes they’ve also diagnosed me with. The few things I could eat while pregnant have narrowed even further. I can no longer manage stress with sugar (which was probably a bad plan to begin with, but oh so nice). I have to prick my finger four times a day and everything, and it seems like the only way I can keep my numbers on track is a marathon cooking session each week in which I pack all of my meals and snacks for six days out. The amount of protein I’m eating is insane.
I’m torn. I want this kid to bake as long as possible, but I already feel like I’ve been pregnant for FOREVER and want it to end. I don’t remember what it feels like to not ache, cough, sleep terribly, contend with acid reflux, or pick food on a menu based on desire and not category. I keep forgetting that it takes me 5 times as much effort to do things as when I wasn’t pregnant and then I exhaust myself.
As a friend of mine told me (who is also having an unfun pregnancy): you don’t have to enjoy pregnancy to enjoy the baby. That’s probably my new mantra.
Don’t get me wrong. I know I’m lucky. I’m horribly uncomfortable, yes, but the baby is thriving by all measures. There are moments of magic still, like when Brian and I rocked him to sleep swing dancing, despite the loud band Tuesday night. He kicks when I put my elbows on my stomach, making my whole arm jump. He’s always wiggling and seems to like it when I tell him good morning when he kicks me on the way to work.
Still, I feel like we’d have a better time if he was an actual human being in the world that I could kiss, and I didn’t have to put up with all these symptoms.
So, why am I being a complainer even when I know it isn’t exactly kosher? I’m supposed to love this, right? Or at least suffer in silence if I can’t…
Basically that’s why.
No one talks about how crappy this can be and I think we should. Making a human is hard. Everyone who’s pregnant, or who has been, is so cavalier about it. I get that too, to be honest, because it’s easy to brush the individual symptoms aside. It’s not like some horrible huge thing. It’s just a bouquet of tiny inconveniences that bloom into huge frustration when added together.
Achy hips take bending down to tie my shoes from discomfort to impossibility. Knowing I’m going to have to stand up on my legs to make it to the bathroom five times a night takes annoyance into exhaustion as I lay in bed and psych myself up for the trip, and lose more sleep. If, in a moment of weakness, I take refuge in a pack of skittles? Then I’m doomed to worry about how sick the baby feels in there because his mom couldn’t control herself, or her blood sugar.
The mom guilt starts earlier than you thought it could… This isn’t even my first instance.
If I could throw up my hands and sleep in blissful ignorance until delivery day, I would totally take that option at this point. I’ll even take having to get up every hour to pee as long as I don’t have to engage with the rest of it.
Now that I’ve thoroughly whined, I also want to say that there IS a part of me that realizes how special this is. I mean, I already love this kid to pieces and we haven’t even met yet. I know it’s not his fault that his mom is going nuts. By all measures at my appointments, he’s a blissfully ignorant camper in there growing beautifully. It’s those little things that make the rest of it seem possible to endure. That and the fact that Brian has been such a champ, taking on extra household chores, rubbing my back, and gently teasing me about how VERY pregnant I am.
That’s all the news on the baby front right now. And if anyone has tips for relieving muscle pain, I’d appreciate it if you forward it along. I’m already doing exercises (squats, kegels, butterflies, taylor-sitting, and pelvic rocks) sleeping with a super-fancy pregnancy pillow between my legs, and taking Tylenol (when I absolutely have to). I’m also trying to distribute my weight on both feet (instead of one or the other) as much as possible. I’m better for all of that, but I’m not good.
Alright, I’ll stop whining now. I have mass quantities of diabetic muffins to go make, anyway. Which should take me ½ hour, but will actually take me 2 and I’ll be exhausted at the end… Smh.