Last night I dreamt that I was having a normal tough day at the office, from my third person view I could see that I was very very pregnant.
I looked like a cow.
I was banging away at the keyboard while talking on the phone.
Bla bla bla I went and then fell silent.
This being my dream there was no shortage of exaggerations as my water broke right there and then like the Vaal damn bursting. It was ankle deep all over the floor.
Well at least I hope this is an exaggeration.
Anyway a bunch of my colleges came rushing into the room as I calmly told my client I had to go and immediately dialed Eugene’s number.
“hallo” ….
“I’m fine”…
“yes listen are you busy cos I need you to do something”….
“well its kina urgent, will you go home and get my hospital bag pleas?”…
“yes and then meat me at the hospital”
“my water just broke”
“no Im fine”
And I hung up.
Am I the only one who thinks that was weird.
I got into my car latched my seatbelt put my hazard on and proceeded to drive myself to the hospital.
At this point the dream ended and I know it was a dream because in real life I would probably get lost on my way to the hospital and end up having my kid at a petrol station in Soweto
I calmly got up and packed my laptop up and demanded my bag be carried by one of the sallow faced people wading through amniotic fluid.
It happens
When I first fell pregnant I looked at the 9 month calendar with dread and apprehension, convinced that waiting 9 months to see our baby would be excruciating and I had quite convinced myself that before the end of the third trimester the curiosity and expectation would have burned a hole in my head.
Yet before I could wipe the purity out my eyes I am standing at the end of my first trimester with only six months to go.
I had also suffered an illusion that hubby being who he is, me being as impatient as I am would, by now, have everything organized and planned out.
We have, to say the least, been overwhelmed by the amount of stuff Baby will need and have failed to make a move on anything till now.
The room that we have designated for baby remains little more than a disorganized laundry room with sad curtains and a cupboard full of PC parts. And I have only just found a doctor that suites my strict budgetary requirements
I have thus come to the conclusion that mother nature does not need nine months to grow a baby and it is well within her power to start producing a “just add water” production model for child birth. However being a woman and understanding the fact that human beings are a flawed species she had the foresight to provide us with a 9 month grace period during which we can if not mentally, but habitually prepare ourselves for the greatest responsibility of our lives.
After that it’s up to us.
One day you find yourself flat on your back in a hospital ward with your legs spread like a Russian gymnast and a voice like an African Vuvuzela trying desperately not to poo in the doctor’s hands while at the same time pushing to expel a whole human being from your body’s most unlikely orifice.
You’ll grunt and squeal like a Christmas pig and swear like a liquored up sailor and perhaps for the first time in your life not be compelled to stop your Mascara from running, but before you can completely curse the day you met the pail faced fear stricken man by your side “it happens”.
A tiny wrinkly little body attached to a very big very high pitched voice comes howling into the big bad world.
You’ll smile while doctors and nurses pretend they notice that he looks like you.
Provided daddy is still on his feet and not comatose under the doctors feel he’ll be given the howling bundle to hold and you’ll marvel at how gentle he can be with those paws of his.
For the most part it’s a perfect utopian picture and its one no parent ever forgets (apparently) but you do forget that 3 days later you stomp about the house in a sleep deprived mess, wearing one slipper, an unlatched nursing bra and a chopstick in your hair.
You forget that every day you go and pee in excruciating pain and hope that by some miracle the instruction manual that you are sure got lost in transit, may appear.
After all there must be some comprehensive guide that can tell you what exactly is the limit to the amount of fluid that kid can expel and how long can one go without sleep before one starts to dissolve.
Alas there is none, not even a measly “handle with care” sticker.
583 phone calls to your mom and 3weeks latter you slowly get the hang of it and the details of the first few days fade into insignificance, you’ll simply say “it was hard” and smile at the Lilliputian version of his dad in his crib.
In this instance mother nature’s wisdom is limitless. Somehow she knew you could do it on your own and to make sure that you don’t discourage your kin from walking the path she equipped you with a selectively bad memory.
I have been told that babies are a miracle, but my very close observation of new mommies and old mommies and mommies to be has lead me believe that a mommy’s resilience is by no means just a small part of that miracle.
Yet before I could wipe the purity out my eyes I am standing at the end of my first trimester with only six months to go.
I had also suffered an illusion that hubby being who he is, me being as impatient as I am would, by now, have everything organized and planned out.
We have, to say the least, been overwhelmed by the amount of stuff Baby will need and have failed to make a move on anything till now.
The room that we have designated for baby remains little more than a disorganized laundry room with sad curtains and a cupboard full of PC parts. And I have only just found a doctor that suites my strict budgetary requirements
I have thus come to the conclusion that mother nature does not need nine months to grow a baby and it is well within her power to start producing a “just add water” production model for child birth. However being a woman and understanding the fact that human beings are a flawed species she had the foresight to provide us with a 9 month grace period during which we can if not mentally, but habitually prepare ourselves for the greatest responsibility of our lives.
After that it’s up to us.
One day you find yourself flat on your back in a hospital ward with your legs spread like a Russian gymnast and a voice like an African Vuvuzela trying desperately not to poo in the doctor’s hands while at the same time pushing to expel a whole human being from your body’s most unlikely orifice.
You’ll grunt and squeal like a Christmas pig and swear like a liquored up sailor and perhaps for the first time in your life not be compelled to stop your Mascara from running, but before you can completely curse the day you met the pail faced fear stricken man by your side “it happens”.
A tiny wrinkly little body attached to a very big very high pitched voice comes howling into the big bad world.
You’ll smile while doctors and nurses pretend they notice that he looks like you.
Provided daddy is still on his feet and not comatose under the doctors feel he’ll be given the howling bundle to hold and you’ll marvel at how gentle he can be with those paws of his.
For the most part it’s a perfect utopian picture and its one no parent ever forgets (apparently) but you do forget that 3 days later you stomp about the house in a sleep deprived mess, wearing one slipper, an unlatched nursing bra and a chopstick in your hair.
You forget that every day you go and pee in excruciating pain and hope that by some miracle the instruction manual that you are sure got lost in transit, may appear.
After all there must be some comprehensive guide that can tell you what exactly is the limit to the amount of fluid that kid can expel and how long can one go without sleep before one starts to dissolve.
Alas there is none, not even a measly “handle with care” sticker.
583 phone calls to your mom and 3weeks latter you slowly get the hang of it and the details of the first few days fade into insignificance, you’ll simply say “it was hard” and smile at the Lilliputian version of his dad in his crib.
In this instance mother nature’s wisdom is limitless. Somehow she knew you could do it on your own and to make sure that you don’t discourage your kin from walking the path she equipped you with a selectively bad memory.
I have been told that babies are a miracle, but my very close observation of new mommies and old mommies and mommies to be has lead me believe that a mommy’s resilience is by no means just a small part of that miracle.
Im scared
With the first trimester firmly behind me and the slow emergence of a profile resembling that of a Cambodian orphan I am on constant lookout for that Pulitzer prize winning vulture, the carrion eating hellbird has yet to show its face leaving me to deal with the ever increasing influx of woman who naturally gravitate towards preggies such as myself.
After much practice I have learnt to suppress my urge to shoo of the gaggle of congregating belly touchers that attack me around every corner and to enjoy the female company for the first time in my life.
To my shock and amazements I have to admit that this has not been a completely terrible experience as these woman tend to be an endless source of encouragement and ,unlike many other people, actually expect a longwinded answer when enquiring about your day and your health.
They are perfectly happy to answer stupid questions about nappy brands and breastfeeding without looking at me as if I’m an invalid. It seems that each just feels honored that you chose to ask her.
I have thus tapped into an endless resource of advice and knowledge that , unlike the preggie books don’t bombard you with ever increasing list of things you should not do.
On Friday Eugene and I will see an OBGYN for the first time an event that I approach with both fear and expectation.
The fact is that for as long as I care to remember I have avoided any form of doctor like an ABBA reunion concert. So on Friday I will clear my mind of any thoughts of my remaining dignity and spread my little legs for a complete stranger.
I have learnt that pregnancy is a trade off and this is no exception, in return for my willingness to subject my vajayjay to severe scrutiny I get to see my baby for the very first time, we get to hear his little heart beating and with any luck we may be able to find out if it’s a pink one or a blue one and settle the arguments once and for all.
Sadly I must admit that my excitement had been marred by the fact that I am having nightmares about what might show up on that screen.
Since the day I found out that I was pregnant I have googled my fingers to the bone and have print stains on my fingers from paging through stacks of pregnancy magazines.
I have read about birth defects and preemies and miscarriages and infant distress and cutting the cord to soon, the effects of too little folic acid and too much fish I have tried to be versed on what one should do and what one shouldn’t do. Too much exercise, too little exercise.
At the moment I am a walking dictionary on every possible eventuality and I am a neurotic mess. More so than I normally am and I carry a constant fear that something may be wrong or that despite my best efforts I am harming little Tyler or Liana.
If I feel too good I convince myself that the baby has stopped growing if I feel too bad I tell myself this is not normal.
Not even the fact that people are now starting to comment on my belly soothes the loony inside.
I hope that once Friday has passed my fears will be laid to rest
Fair Thee Well.. Kak day
This morning it dawned on me like a dark Tranvaal thunder cloud. Up until now I had never considered it, I admit it was a concern, but it was a concern that paled into insignificance in light of the ever increasing amount of larger problems I have been forced to deal with since “Thingy’s” arrival in my life.
When I put my mind to it, I can honestly say that I recall very few significant valentines days in my life. And to make matters worse the only Valentines’ day Eugene and I succeeded in spending together was marred by the fact that my scull was at that point registering its disgust with my lack of dental attention by expelling, rather painfully I might add, one of my back molars from my jaw.
The resulting effect was a 9pm high speed trip around Gauteng to find an emergency dentist (a species more endangered then the Do-Do) as the effects of the 26 mypaids I was sure would tide me over had worn of.
In preceding years my general attitude towards the utterly ridiculous waste of my time left much to be desired, as I marched about clad in black grumbling about consumerist propaganda. Those with a mind to persuade me that it was a “nice” holiday were told that I was dying from sugar shock and had their friend cards revoked.
No Ladies and Gentlemen Leanne Parker is by no means a Valentines day fan.
This said, I have to admit that when it finally dawned on me that this Valentines day would be the very last of these loathsome days that I would spend in a degree of care freeness I was slightly disturbed.
By Next year Eugene and I would have become one of those couples whose only wish for the day is peace and quite and some semblance of the life we once lived.
“Us time” will be at the top of our wish list.
Pleased don’t get me wrong I’m Pleased as pie (that’s one of my new mommy phrases) that by this time next year “Thingy” would have arrived in all its wet stinky glory, I am simply caught in a moment of reflection.
All of this however has driven me to the decision that I am going to moderately scale down the bitching to a tolerable level where I may enjoy and celebrate the next 6months of moments where I will be able to say “you know this is the last time”
Like the last Christmas we spent as people.
The very last time I saw my waistline.
The last time I could walk into a shop and not dart for the baby section.
The last time I googled anything that had nothing to do with pregnancy or children.
My last birthday that I can behave irresponsibly (well almost)
The last DVD I get to rent that isn’t animated
The last time we can go to a restaurant that doesn’t have high chairs
The last time we can…..well you know… I think my gran reads this I can’t say that kina stuff.
And sometime in September “Thingy” will arrive and put and end to life as I know it.
The birth of our baby will put an end to a great many things.
For instance hopefully it will put an end to the raging argument about “Thingy’s” name and sex.
“Thingy” will put and end to whole nights of sleep and nursery decoration.
He or she will poop and pee its disgust at afternoon naps and every item of white clothing mom owns.
I hear passing the pencil test also becomes a thing of the past and oh lets not forget the slow painful death of the “entertainment budget”
Contrary to popular believe I will not become a citizen of the state of mourning for a time that has quite obviously run its coarse.
No I have decided that I am going to keep my mind on the rare privilege in my future. One reserved for children and new mommies and daddies.
After all who would have thought that at the age of 25 I will be able to say
“this is the first time”
And while clubs and couture and sleeping till 9am will fade into the memories of my past my future hold new things like;
First Christmases, first time at a family restaurant as a family, first smile, first step, first day of school….
On other news I just bought two huge yet stylish tops that should hide the baby bump for a while.
Aunty Chaz has graciously offered to buy “Thingy” a cot and I suspect that her motivation behind the generosity spawns from being witness to my past dealings with children.
Granny Ina has been equally as giving and has found a cherry wood compactem for “Thingy’s” bath and other gee-go’s and Granny Parker is sewing her fingers to the bone creating a doughnut contraption.
Eugene and I will be spending out Valentines at the Wescliff hotel pretending that we are Oh so La-di-da and taking full advantage of the end of morning sickness and exhaustion oh and that other perk that comes along with pregnancy
CHANGING
I maintain that I must have once had a relationship with “that man Murphy” a relationship ,mind you, that must have gone sour because I can honestly not think of any other reason for a person to begrudge me so maliciously.
You see a few days ago I was reaching the end of my rapidly fraying rope, I felt like I was drowning and in accordance I posted a very strongly worded bitch fit to express to my very minute reader base that I felt like utter crap and I needed someone to tell me that its okay and remind me that this little pitfall is a ditch in comparison to some of the mighty sinkholes I have talked my way out of.
I have decided to not remove that ill advised rant from this documentation of my pregnancy, arguing that, contrary to popular believe, I am not that far removed from the normal 2x chromosome baring homosapian and if I have days like these other preggies have them too and somewhere there should be someone telling these poor sods that its quite normal to despise your life from time to time.
(Dear reader if you do decide to hate your life please do so responsibly)
Damn I’ve lost my train of thought…….
Oh yes. As I was going to say in my very long winded explanation of something mind numbingly simple…..
This post however served a duel purpose in that it proved to me that my little thingy has inherited its daddies good luck gene.
Not only did the whole financial mess take a positive turn after the post but something very strange happened.
An old friend whom I have not spoken to in a year tract my blog down and read it.
Refreshing as it is to hear that there are still people out there who are into the kind of self fladulating behavior that would prompt one to sit through my over descriptive monologs, I Still came close to swallowing my tongue when she phoned.
In a state of utter shock we met for coffee and my friend then proceeded to hand me the subject for my next post on a silver platter.
(And you thought this was the post)
“I remember” she said, and I flinched as I tend to do when people start sentences like that lately. “You used to say that you would never have children”.
I smiled and tried to pan my current pregnant state off to fate having decided otherwise.
The fact of the matter however was that she was quite right about my past convictions and admittedly I had mentioned that I was waiting for menopause before I decided to have kids.
This got me thinking, and after about five seconds of quite contemplation (I can only manage five seconds at a time) I realized that practically every single one of my convictions have been changed by the abrupt arrival of the Thingy into my life.
Pre-pregnancy I professed that I would take every possible step to have a pain free birth and now I advocate natural birth.
I was convinced that hospitals were the place to be and yet today I am making plans to convince gene that a home birth would be better.
Don’t even get me started on the breast feeding thing.
But I think the most markable change is the fact that I am bursting at the seems with excitement at the prospect of becoming a mom.
How weird is that.
Next thing you know Ill want to get married, luckily I know that the scheduled falling of the sky will prevent this lunacy from coming to fruition… but still.
Eugene is no exception to the matter. The man has become a walking talking baby catalog, as he merrily goes on his way dealing with this as he does with any momentous occasion in his life.
By buying gadgets.
Luckily for him Babies come with lots of gadgets and my man has been having sleepless nights fantasizing about his plans to make our kid the most wired up baby in the history of man kind.
He has also adopted that far away contemplative look you used to see superman wearing as he gazes into the sunset and reflects on how to change world.
It seems that while a woman grows to the size of an oil tanker during pregnancy men change in their own way and suddenly shoulder the responsibility of changing the world to a place fit to house the fruit of his loins.
He will stop using bad language and start smoking outside, he’ll chastise you about the way you drive and the safety of what you drive.
He’ll start reading the labels on food stuffs to check for led paint, melamine and whatever ells the Chinese are poisoning our food with.
Dad’s to be walk around the garden plotting out construction sites for jungle gyms and tree houses.
He becomes concerned with the swimming pool gate that doesn’t lock and starts training three boisterous pit bulls to play softly.
I swear my dogs are the only dogs in the world that adjust their behavior the moment the word baby is mentioned.
He becomes a decorator and handy man, and gives me disapproving looks every time I forget about the child proving and almost rip the cupboard door off its hinges.
And every week and every day that goes by while you curse things like stretch marks, bathplug nipples and the cost of baby crap you realize that what they say in those cliché magazines is true.
The moment you fall pregnant the you that you knew dies and you start from scratch because everything changes, its like being a teenager all over again.
And just when you think you’ve come to terms with pregnant you, you have to start again and meet mommy you.
How daunting
YAY FOR ME!
Reset, Restart, Reload
During my short stint as a PC gamer I developed a handy sense for when a mission has gone so far wrong it’s beyond salvation. I learnt to cut my loses instead of forging ahead to an almost certain defeat.
Today is not shaping up to be a good day, I would wager that it may turn out to be an even more dismal day then yesterday.
Today I find myself reflecting on the fact that life like those games has reached a point where the mission should be aborted, the outcome is almost certainly hopeless and despite my best efforts I am drowning.
Unfortunately in real life the reset button is the off button and you don’t get to try again later.
I was short paid this last month and I fear the same outcome at the end of the month.
The house is costing us a fortune and people owe us money.
My medical aid may not cover my pregnancy and there is no way of knowing whether they will without my condition being diagnosed.
We can’t do that because we have no money.
Nedbank wants to sue me Nashua mobile wants to sue me Im behind on my car payment and my loan payment.
My car needs services my tires have no tread on them my rims are bent and I have no breaks.
I have fines to pay, and a child to prepare for.
People are pressuring me to get married, I don’t have enough clients.
I desperately want to see my baby just to make sure that all this is real but I cant afford the scan, Im playing a guessing game about stuff I know nothing about.
I want to crawl into a hole and never come out again.
Eugene is so good about trying to keep me from stressing but I know hes worried so Im more worried because I am helpless.
Today is not shaping up to be a good day, I would wager that it may turn out to be an even more dismal day then yesterday.
Today I find myself reflecting on the fact that life like those games has reached a point where the mission should be aborted, the outcome is almost certainly hopeless and despite my best efforts I am drowning.
Unfortunately in real life the reset button is the off button and you don’t get to try again later.
I was short paid this last month and I fear the same outcome at the end of the month.
The house is costing us a fortune and people owe us money.
My medical aid may not cover my pregnancy and there is no way of knowing whether they will without my condition being diagnosed.
We can’t do that because we have no money.
Nedbank wants to sue me Nashua mobile wants to sue me Im behind on my car payment and my loan payment.
My car needs services my tires have no tread on them my rims are bent and I have no breaks.
I have fines to pay, and a child to prepare for.
People are pressuring me to get married, I don’t have enough clients.
I desperately want to see my baby just to make sure that all this is real but I cant afford the scan, Im playing a guessing game about stuff I know nothing about.
I want to crawl into a hole and never come out again.
Eugene is so good about trying to keep me from stressing but I know hes worried so Im more worried because I am helpless.
In the catagory of subjects not discussed
It has been my experience that most of the information that first time mothers- to-be get from “so-called” reliable sources is, to say the very least, inadequate and incomplete.
This explains why woman without children regard you and your slowly dying waistline with envy and utter unmasked excitement, while the wiser mother of two seems to regard you with a measure of pity.
She knows what your going through and knows what is still to come, but dutiful to the unspoken code of decorum surrounding this event she refrains from scaring the crap out of you and simply warns you to take your vitamins.
So you dutifully pop a carefully regimented routine of folic acid and omega three, you refrain from sushi and drink non alcoholic beer that tastes like fermented cat urine, you pee constantly and your boobs hurt, but you smile when people tell you how wonderful it is because you know that this is normal.
You knew that this would happen long before you even seriously considered having children and you had long since come to the conclusion that these small hiccups are a small price to pay when in pursuit of fulfilling ones biological destiny.
Alas some time near the end of your first trimester you start to realize that when mankind was ordered to go forth and multiply, nobody stopped to negotiate the terms by which this frolicking fornication would take place.
And now you are stuck to bare the repercussion of gross non disclosure.
The ugly truth, that at some point you are going to stop and say “oh my god what have I done” is shrouded is impenetrable darkness and secrecy.
You were never told that you will go through a phase of morning for your now dead and gone social life or that you will silently wonder if you’ll love your baby enough to accept that you are now a frauw.
While you may only have wallowed in this self loathing cesspool of insanity for a short while you will feel the guilt of it for weeks or at least until you find a way to redeem your soul.
None of the magazines that you have suddenly taken to reading ever tell you that despite the endless crooning and attention you receive from every person you know, including those you thought you weren’t speaking to, you will on some level feel very alone.
The prospect of childbirth looms in your future as possibly the most terrifying thing you have ever faced and your body is doing all sorts of strange things. And while the daddy-to-be is aware of these life altering changes it is all a rather inconsequential abstract to him and you know it. He doesn’t grasp the full weight of what is happening to you and he was never designed to.
Someone should truly write a book about pregnancy definitions so that prospective preggies would know that the direct translation of “Morning sickness” is “all day, all night sickness that feels like your stomach lining is clawing its way up your thought” or that food aversions means that you will be averted to food in general, that you will constantly feel overeaten and even the slightest thought of anything creamy will make you want to vomit in your mouth.
The list of pregnancy symptoms should be revised to include;
-Farts so powerful it makes the nuclear holocaust look like a low adrenalin getaway.
-Feeling lethargic should be more adequately explained and an unparalleled exhaustion the likes of which are only rivaled by death itself.
- Your body is running at the same temperature Hitler once used to burn Jews at and yet you’re still feeling cold
-Back ache Back ache back ache!!!!!
And for crying in a bucket could somebody please for all the love in the world start making maternity wear that does not resemble a badly stitched circus tent from the 1800’s
Your going to want to kill him about a baby name and the nursery color scheme and he’s going to write your rage off to pregnancy mood swings, instead of your dream of the perfect kid with the perfect name being ruined by his utter inability to sit down shut-up and agree with you.
Any moment he spends lying on the couch will be seen as a direct reflection of his willingness to help out when the baby arrives and you will consider feeding him to your pets to spare yourself the aggravation.
You will feel the slight urge to impale the next person who uses their experience with babies thirteen years ago as a platform to tell you what to do and you will cringe every time some random person completely molests the principal of personal space to rub your tummy.
People who tell you that your glowing put themselves in serious danger of having their eyeballs donated to someone more likely to put them to actually use them and you are quite sure you’ll pass out at the sight of another pink polka dot.
And the truth is that you will feel terribly sorry for yourself much of the time while working incredibly hard to hide the feeling from other people because you too now prescribe to the pregnancy pact of “shut up and deal with it”
However all this considered it is kind of nice to know that you have hundreds of people who are all of a sudden incredibly concerned with your wellbeing.
It’s refreshing when daddy brings home take out when you don’t want to cook. Its great to know that my little sister is wishing my pregnancy over with as much impatience as I am because she cant wait to be an aunty.
Its also kina cool to sit back and remind yourself that you are getting closer to the end every day and that soon you get to be one of those wiser woman
This explains why woman without children regard you and your slowly dying waistline with envy and utter unmasked excitement, while the wiser mother of two seems to regard you with a measure of pity.
She knows what your going through and knows what is still to come, but dutiful to the unspoken code of decorum surrounding this event she refrains from scaring the crap out of you and simply warns you to take your vitamins.
So you dutifully pop a carefully regimented routine of folic acid and omega three, you refrain from sushi and drink non alcoholic beer that tastes like fermented cat urine, you pee constantly and your boobs hurt, but you smile when people tell you how wonderful it is because you know that this is normal.
You knew that this would happen long before you even seriously considered having children and you had long since come to the conclusion that these small hiccups are a small price to pay when in pursuit of fulfilling ones biological destiny.
Alas some time near the end of your first trimester you start to realize that when mankind was ordered to go forth and multiply, nobody stopped to negotiate the terms by which this frolicking fornication would take place.
And now you are stuck to bare the repercussion of gross non disclosure.
The ugly truth, that at some point you are going to stop and say “oh my god what have I done” is shrouded is impenetrable darkness and secrecy.
You were never told that you will go through a phase of morning for your now dead and gone social life or that you will silently wonder if you’ll love your baby enough to accept that you are now a frauw.
While you may only have wallowed in this self loathing cesspool of insanity for a short while you will feel the guilt of it for weeks or at least until you find a way to redeem your soul.
None of the magazines that you have suddenly taken to reading ever tell you that despite the endless crooning and attention you receive from every person you know, including those you thought you weren’t speaking to, you will on some level feel very alone.
The prospect of childbirth looms in your future as possibly the most terrifying thing you have ever faced and your body is doing all sorts of strange things. And while the daddy-to-be is aware of these life altering changes it is all a rather inconsequential abstract to him and you know it. He doesn’t grasp the full weight of what is happening to you and he was never designed to.
Someone should truly write a book about pregnancy definitions so that prospective preggies would know that the direct translation of “Morning sickness” is “all day, all night sickness that feels like your stomach lining is clawing its way up your thought” or that food aversions means that you will be averted to food in general, that you will constantly feel overeaten and even the slightest thought of anything creamy will make you want to vomit in your mouth.
The list of pregnancy symptoms should be revised to include;
-Farts so powerful it makes the nuclear holocaust look like a low adrenalin getaway.
-Feeling lethargic should be more adequately explained and an unparalleled exhaustion the likes of which are only rivaled by death itself.
- Your body is running at the same temperature Hitler once used to burn Jews at and yet you’re still feeling cold
-Back ache Back ache back ache!!!!!
And for crying in a bucket could somebody please for all the love in the world start making maternity wear that does not resemble a badly stitched circus tent from the 1800’s
Your going to want to kill him about a baby name and the nursery color scheme and he’s going to write your rage off to pregnancy mood swings, instead of your dream of the perfect kid with the perfect name being ruined by his utter inability to sit down shut-up and agree with you.
Any moment he spends lying on the couch will be seen as a direct reflection of his willingness to help out when the baby arrives and you will consider feeding him to your pets to spare yourself the aggravation.
You will feel the slight urge to impale the next person who uses their experience with babies thirteen years ago as a platform to tell you what to do and you will cringe every time some random person completely molests the principal of personal space to rub your tummy.
People who tell you that your glowing put themselves in serious danger of having their eyeballs donated to someone more likely to put them to actually use them and you are quite sure you’ll pass out at the sight of another pink polka dot.
And the truth is that you will feel terribly sorry for yourself much of the time while working incredibly hard to hide the feeling from other people because you too now prescribe to the pregnancy pact of “shut up and deal with it”
However all this considered it is kind of nice to know that you have hundreds of people who are all of a sudden incredibly concerned with your wellbeing.
It’s refreshing when daddy brings home take out when you don’t want to cook. Its great to know that my little sister is wishing my pregnancy over with as much impatience as I am because she cant wait to be an aunty.
Its also kina cool to sit back and remind yourself that you are getting closer to the end every day and that soon you get to be one of those wiser woman
