Pregnancy: A Warning Label
2 pink lines on a fortune telling stick and the next thing you know everyone wants to touch your ever-growing belly while they tell you their own experience of a 40- hour labor and ask you overly inappropriate personal questions. That is just the beginning and not to mention the fun part.
Maybe I’m a tad bitter but I think I’ve earned the right to be at least slightly glum. Pregnancy has not been good to me thus far and thus far is pretty far seeing how I’m past the halfway point (or the saving station if you’re into any video games made circa-1995). I am by no means the Grinch of pregnancy-ville but I am also on the verge of handing my body over to science so they can discover a way to get this done in 90 days.
Morning sickness started pretty early on, week 5, while I was visiting Montreal. I equated the suprising and overwhelming feeling to that of a tequila induced hangover, without the memories of dancing on a bar the night before. “I could handle this”, I thought as I ate dry toast and went about my day, ginger ale in hand. That was before morning sickness turned into afternoon woozies and night heaving then continued well into my 5th month. Wah wah, woe is me right?
Well the good news that they don’t tell you is that you can eat whatever your little heart desires at this point because it will quickly make it’s way back from whence it came, littering the aisle of a Wal-Mart, an airplane sick bag or an unsuspecting houseplant if necessary. Let the gorging begin, yay!
There is no need for me to look toward cinema for entertainment anymore, as I have become my own version of Dr. Jekyll, Mr. Hyde. I wake up with a smile, kissing my fiancé lovingly only to be brushing my teeth to the sound of sobs no less than 5 minutes later. What could have possibly happened to elicit such a reaction and downpour of minty foam and tears across my face? Funny you should ask, my fiancé knows better than to ask questions neither of us knows the answer to anymore. The answer is this: pregnancy is full of magic tricks. In fact, I am now capable and likely to display every emotion posted on the back of your high school guidance counselors door (You know, the 25 different smiley faces), within the time it takes to parallel park, or the length of Lana Del Ray’s career- whichever finishes first.
In addition to now being able to trace the wiggling limbs of boy wonder in my belly (who I’m certain dreams of being an Olympian jumper) I feel that I am harboring enough emotion for 2 adult humans and one Spaghetti Squash sized baby. What is one to do with all of that feeling? The only option I see fit is to hold it in as long as possible, only letting the occasional tear squeeze past, until there is an event that warrants such a reaction from a normal, non-incubating, human being. I.e. While watching the 10:00 news, stubbing your toe, if necessary (depending on the amount of heaving and sorrowful moans)- fake the death of a distant relative or acquaintance. Trust me, this will be met with a more understanding reaction than if you were to tell the truth (the truth being…you briefly thought of any Disney movie or worse saw a baby animal in print, or television).
Every week my body changes in ways I have been opposed to for the last 26 years. I gag at the thought of foods I was willing to drive 45 miles to find only a week earlier. I’ve traded in an active lifestyle of yoga, dance and running for a force-fed walk on a treadmill while I watch reruns of a baby story. My sex- drive of course is the only thing that hasn’t altered in the slightest, but my appeal I’m sure has dropped by numbers on any college guy’s 1-10 scale. After all, who fantasizes about a crying woman, wearing Costco brand sweatpants while she eats ice cream from the container, and says things like “You’ll never understand”. Even the guy who got me into this mess would struggle through that cloudy colored, techno throbbing fantasy.
Don’t be fooled, it’s not all terrible. This is the only time in your life when people will make a concerted effort to listen while you complain. Let it out! From the heartburn, to the 7 pairs of unworn skinny jeans in your closet, to the one time that guy in Trader Joes cut you in line. Don’t hold back because after this time is over, no one will hide their feelings of ambivalence. Life’s hard, suck it up…unless there is a baby growing inside of you. In that case, come on over here, sit on my lap and tell me what’s wrong.
Pregnancy, no matter how many books there are (and I’ve read them all, even the ones to prepare fathers and pets) is totally unpreparable. (This should be a word). There is nothing that prepares you for the corn dog craving, whiny, unstable, raving lunatic that will stare back at you as you glumly walk past the reflective Starbucks window, catching only a quick glance of the woman you used to be- clinging to the hope that you’ll return to her, or something even remotely similar, after passing a soccer ball through a key-hole and closing the book on the chapter called “I’m never doing this again, and other lies we tell ourselves”.
*I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you that this baby is an absolute blessing for my fiancé and me. It is in every way a miracle to witness its growth, build a bond that is unlike any other I’ve ever experienced and occasionally let myself daydream of his/her future and probable gorgeous blue eyes.
But who on Earth wants to read about that?
- alexandriachristopher posted this