I think it’s safe to say that pregnancy is kicking my butt.
I naively hoped that, since for the rest of my life my health has been so ridiculously crappy, maybe I’d get to be one of those women who just blossom in pregnancy. The kind that glow, and feel great, and are just a magnificent example of womanhood.
What was I thinking? I have not been able to get off the couch for the past month. When I wasn’t so nauseous the room was spinning, I have been having stabbing sciatica pain. Just trying to make it to the bathroom I have to hunch over and waddle with my legs so far apart that the kid might just fall out one day. And then lose my breath at how much each step hurts.
Bear has also not quite grown into the role like I would have expected. He takes such great care of me normally, that I always thought once I got pregnant he would go into hyperdrive and not allow me to move a muscle. That one hasn’t come true either. I think he’s either in denial because we’re still a couple weeks away from completely out of the woods, or since I’m in that “I don’t look pregnant yet I’m just putting on weight for the long winter” phase, maybe he just forgets. At any rate, the other day I made him go to the store for pickles and chocolate covered pretzels (because for some strange reason they don’t make chocolate covered pickles so I had to improvise) and he totally threw a pouty fit. You would have thought he was the one with the hormonal surges.
Which reminds me. Oh the shame of it. I am a person who is pragmatic to a fault. I am logical and unsentimental, and now I seem to have lost all sense of self. The other day I had a huge weepy breakdown, complete with gasping for air and not being able to speak, because I was worried about loving my cats less once the baby came. I was sobbing and asking, “What is going to become of them? *sob sob* Where will she sleep if she can’t spoon me in the bed? *sob sob* Cheetara won’t understand that I still love her! I’m going to be a terrible mother!” Bear wisely covered his face with his pillow to muffle the laughter.
Worst of all, all work on the house came to a screeching stop. Bear works long hours, and then he has to come home and try to find something to rustle up for dinner that I might be able to swallow without gagging. I may be cranky, but even I can’t seem to say, “Hurry up and finish those dinner dishes, would ya? You’re losing daylight and you’ve got to get those bedroom baseboards sanded. Now fetch me a drink while I watch Grey’s Anatomy.” We’re still working on painting the master suite, we’ve got a bathroom half stripped of wallpaper, stair railing half painted, and kitchen cabinets that are covered in paint swatches while one lonely little cabinet face shows off it’s fresh primer. And the room that will be the nursery is currently painted with two neon green walls and two electric blue walls. In semi-gloss.
I’ve read that once you cross over into second trimester territory, then suddenly you become productive again. I’ve got fifteen days and counting.