So, things have been all weird and stuff since I got pregnant. My boobs, of which I never though possible, grew in size. I always managed carrying them well before, with no back aches. Now, my lower back complains loudly of that added cup size. Not to mention the areola parts are the size of dinner plates. And they hurt. A lot. Log learned very quickly that as exciting as they may look, to touch (or even attempt to), will cause your wife to hiss like a damn feral cat.
As far as the belly goes. It turns out with chubby girls, baby just pushes what you already had, out. The upside is that baby is well insulated and protected. The downside is that no one can really tell that you are pregnant, especially in scrubs. Instead, you just look like you went on a bender over the holidays and you really need to consider laying off the pasta.
When I shower and am standing in front of the mirror, I look like something out of National Geographic. Log still thinks I am the most beautiful woman in the world. I love this guy.
During the first 10 weeks of pregnancy, I lost a lot of hair due to the excess progesterone in my body. Brushing my hair was really depressing. Brushing my teeth was a challenge that no one warned me about. I switched to a water pik for a while, which was a little better, unless I accidentally sprayed the back of my throat or tongue and was followed by ten minutes of torturous gagging.
As far as nausea goes, I had it in spades. Mostly in the mornings, peter out by lunch. I would roll my eyes at how cliché that was. I seldom could follow through and seal the deal. I hate throwing up. I do it with such force and enthusiasm that I pop blood vessels in my eyes and face. Of the few times I did have the Technicolor yawn, it was random, spontaneous, unprovoked, and into the kitchen or bathroom sink.
So, now I am settling into week 23. Just over the halfway mark.The nausea has pretty much subsided. Of course, I managed to catch some sort of upper respiratory virus that has rendered my speaking voice fairly trashed. Now, I sound like that lady who has smoked 3 packs a day for 30 years. Or about half the women on my father’s side of the family. Coughing and sneezing came with its own perils to clean and dry underwear. Also, something no one bothered to warn me about.
As funny as this is going to sound, I still don’t mentally feel pregnant. I used to think that some sort of transformation would occur and I would just “feel pregnant”. We’d go to ultrasound, and see the baby on the screen, and my brain would go, “Wait…that’s in your belly!” It’s so bizarre, the disconnect, but apparently that is normal. I only decided last week that I kinda like the wee girl that keeps kicking my ovaries. She keeps up with that, though, I might have to rescind my like. She will have to earn it back once she comes out. I already plan on talking with her about this after she is born.
Another difference I have noticed, and immediately forgotten, was how dumb I became since being knocked up. Pregnant Brain is real. The struggle is real, even though we forget about it ten seconds after we realize it. I used to be a genius. An intelligent firebrand. Now, I’m reduced to slack-jawed “Uhhh…” When Log asks me even simple questions such as, ” Why is the milk in the pantry?” and “What is 2+2?” I think his friends warned him. I don’t think he believed it. Especially when I see the realization dawn on him that he married a derpy woman and the deepest conversation he might ever have with me now is about what we should have for dinner, only after he has to remind me what dinner is.
Before pregnancy, I was an emotional rock. Never cried. Kept my feelings in check. Not anymore. I cry at everything. Every. Damn. Thing. Commercials. Facebook posts. A dirty sock. Throwing out leftovers that never got eaten. I didn’t cry, but I felt really, really, bad, about my car when we traded it in because I thought it would experience feelings of rejection. I also get mad, and stay mad, at a lot of stuff. Mostly things with politics, religion, and those goddamn anti-vaxxers. I really, really hate them.
Before pregnancy, my ability to hold my urine was practically a super-power. Other nurses would admire my ability to not have to go until the end of a 10 hour shift. I’d strut to the bathroom like some sort of Bladder Badass. Now, I scurry in shame ever 30 minutes to pee out 5 drops. I’m told to go my Kegel exercises with the religious zeal of a Southern Baptist in Utah, but in the next breath am told that in the end, it won’t matter.
Despite all these fun and adventures, I can’t say that I have been miserable. I’m told that misery comes in the third trimester with hemorrhoids, bloat, cankles, muumuus, and the countless advise of every person, stranger or not, on how to raise your child.
But I have my husband, who has been awesome. And I have a Snoogle, which has been pretty cool for sleeping. I’m sure I can make it to the finish line without too much trauma.
The Shiny Hook 