So anyone who’s read any of my posts regarding pregnancy the last few months will be well aware that I have not been having a good time. There’s been a lot of bitching on my part, not because I’m upset about being pregnant but I’m genuinely not enjoying 80% of it.
What pisses me off though is that I wanted so badly to enjoy it. I wanted so badly to be able to just go through it all and be able to say to myself at the end that the pregnancy itself was not so bad. I could’ve even forgiven that first trimester bull and what I’m putting up with now if I’d at least had the second trimester boost that everyone assured me I would get.
There was none of that though. I’ve gone from nauseous and puking to exhausted and fainting at work to not being at work and feeling useless, to needing an iron infusion because my levels had plummeted to single digits, to puking on the side of the road like a teenager after a big night out. Then twenty minutes after I regurgitated my breakfast onto the dirt shoulder I threw up again in a HJ’s bag.
Matt had no choice that morning but to drop me back off at home so I could sleep it off like you would a hangover. Someone I spoke to agreed that for her, pregnancy was just a nine-month hangover.
Seven weeks out and Matt is ready to have me house bound. As far as he’s concerned I can’t leave the house anymore without getting nauseous, my leg going numb and tingly at the same time or having some kind of stomach pain. Now I have to forgive him for thinking these things only happen when we go out because he’s at work all day. Sorry bud but they happen when I’m home as well. Hence why I’ve spent the last week sitting on the floor of the baby’s room drawing a mural on the wall.
It’s a much shorter fall if I’m already there.
I know that I’ve complained a lot. Chances are I’m going to complain until I get this thing out of me. If I have my way it’s coming out at 38weeks. Maybe 39. I don’t think I’m going to get to the full 40 without killing someone.
In my defence, this blog started with me complaining. The Retail Rants series didn’t just come out of nowhere. I had so much shit to bitch about from my job that it had its own mini-series. This is just the latest mini-series. Enjoy.
It’s also kinda hard to find joy in things when every time you look in the mirror all you see is a Heffalump where you’re supposed to be.
I had to explain that one to Matt.
I know that I signed up for this, I know that getting pregnant was very much my choice. Sure Matt played a part and I will blame him for this forever because he also wanted a child. HOWEVER. When I was mentally preparing myself for the inevitable weight gain that has well and truly arrived, I knew that I wouldn’t handle it well. I tried. I’m still trying. Goblin brain says no though. Goblin brain tells me that I’ll never feel pretty again that I’ll never be able to fit into my old clothes and that I will forever struggle to get out of bed and not because I’m tired as all fuckery but because there’s a 4kg tumour sitting on my gut.
On the bright side my OB is very impressed with my stomach muscles. No, seriously. Every check-up lately he and my student midwife have a little competition to see who can figure out which way the baby is presenting. And every time he comments that it is a little bit difficult because I have very good muscles. I may be putting on a kilo a week and be close to Matt’s starting weight when I first got pregnant than my own, but dammit I’ve got good stomach muscles.
I did come to realise that it’s because I’ve been getting out of bed wrong…
Who knew that as your stomach got bigger you were meant to roll out of bed? No, seriously, who actually knew that?
Well I didn’t. So here we are. The rest of me might be vanilla pudding but I have abs of steel.
Since it’s highly frowned upon to Marie Kondo your own child, especially when it’s unborn and this late in the game, I have started to look to the future.
Perth Supernova has been re-announced for the first weekend in October which means that I’ll be anywhere from 2 to 4 weeks postpartum and I am determined to be there. I’ll drink a few cans of V and bounce off the walls like I just did a few lines of coke if I have to. I didn’t spend a month and a half and over 300-woman hours, (they’re like man hours but more productive) making this Aloy costume just to not see it in action.
So Matt is going to do his fatherly duty and parent the child for the weekend, don’t worry I’ll leave instructions. I’m not completely deranged. And I am going to go and have a very fun filled yet exhaustive weekend with KellerStrikes.
Oh, but what about Matt, doesn’t he want to go too?
Yeah for like an hour and then he’ll run out of things to get excited about and I’ll be damned if I’m forced to babysit my husband while I also babysit a cosplayer. He’s like a toddler, very short attention span and unless we’re getting things for him he gets cranky half an hour into a shopping trip. I’ve tried taking snacks but that doesn’t cure the boredom.
I no longer take him to Ikea.
We’ve also agreed that after the baby shower any baby stuff remaining to be grabbed will be done by me with my escort of choice.
- Mum and dad, (brought along purely to carry things and nod along when we ask if something looks cute).
- Or Keller who comes with her own assistance Rottweiler, Charlie. He’s very handy for getting back up off the ground when one of us has crouched for too long, also emotional support when being surrounded by people becomes too much. It’s also quite amusing watching him drool over every pram and small child that passes by.
Not because he wants to eat it. Lick it a little maybe but not eat. No he loves kids. Any child that he becomes attached to will be the most protected child in all of Perth. Keller and I wonder what’s going to happen when my little Predator Cub is born and whether Mazikeen will team up with him or try and keep him away.
I suppose as my last little silver lining for the week, the baby shower. The last time that I will need to be presentable and somewhat pleasant to people until October. At this point I could probably rock up to my niece’s birthday in August in my fluffy dressing gown and jammies and the only one dumb enough to comment would be Jess. It’s bad enough that my baggy men’s sized nerdy shirts are tight on the bump but Matt’s clothes are reaching their limit of helpfulness as well.
We went to a costume party the other night and I dressed up as a gender bent Magnum PI. Suffice it to say in the photos that were taken I looked like a shapeless blob with a moon face. I doth not believe anyone that tells me differently. Not for the pity but just because I know they’re lying to me to make me feel better.
On that note, I’m going to drag my Heffalump ass to bed and hope that the last four nights of shitty sleep will allow me to have one good night tonight.
Any complaints about the continued blogging of my pregnancy can be filed with my management team.
But in all seriousness if you’ve made it this far you have far more patience for my pregnancy than I do.
S.J Smith Books 