Feeling less than well
I should be writing something witty or at least interesting right now about life in the little green house, my daily bus commute with TheBoy or the continuing and wonderful collapse of the Red Sox. But I can't. I just don't feel up to it.We're at week 32 in this fascinating adventure known as pregnancy and, I have to say, it's getting a little old. Sure, I love feeling Beta kick or nudge or, as I imagine it, practice the boxing out motion he/she is going to employ someday to become the leading rebounder in Ivy League history. Yes, I actually am enjoying having people note my increasing size. Attention isn't always a bad thing.
At the same time, I'm starting to get a sense of just how uncomfortable the next eight weeks are going to be. Junior's head is resting quite firmly against my bladder, meaning I have to pee pretty much constantly, and my pelvic bone, meaning I feel like I got into a particularly unpleasant bike wreck that involved whacking my lady bits against the saddle over and over again. I can't sleep for more than two hours at a time without waking up, which has made me quite the pleasant spouse/parent. (At least the random weeping has ceased, for now.) I'm currently using four pillows in bed, and the over-under right now has me finishing up with at least six. I am a big girl, and I take big strides when I walk. Or I did. Now, the slightest incline leaves me short of breath, and if I try to stretch my legs out to their normal pace, I feel like I'm about to do a split. I don't, you might have guessed, do splits.
This week, things have gotten even more difficult. I have a cold. Normally, that would be no problem. I'd take some Nyquil or Tylenol PM, sleep for 16 hours straight and feel much better come morning. Except in my delicate condition, drugs are bad, m'kay? So I'm just suffering through. Like a stoic, as you can tell.
Despite all this, pregnancy is still a beautiful, wonderful, life-affirming experience. A disgusting, discomforting, gassy life-affirming experience. And we haven't even started childbirth classes yet. As TheBoy would say, "Owie, owie, ow!"
posted by AnnaRay at 2:54 PM
9 Comments:
PLG
I still have a bad hip from where Jacob decided to rest his head inutero. As Rich use to to say to me in my really pregnant months when I thought that the discomfort would never end, "The baby will come out. It's not going to have its wedding in there." to which I just wanted to punch his head in. It does end. It is worth it, just think of the secret "toy" surprise inside. And after you forget how uncomortable you really were.
Please accept my apologies in advance for what I'm about to mention: whenever I hear "rebounding", I think of Dennis Rodman.
Then again, the idea of your kid boxing out for Brown while wearing multi-colored hair just ROCKS.
Then again, I cried at Air Bud.
I almost spit out my coffee laughing at the "lady bits." Seriously though, this baby thing is serious stuff! I am seasick all the time and the COLD I HAVE HAD FOR 3 WEEKS is not going away. This is making me eat like a longshoreman and I feel like a big red barn. I don't mean to go on so much about myself, but I just want to say that I feel your need for NYQUIL and maybe scotch, which has tremendously restorative powers. At least you are almost through it all. I am jealous, because I want my sashimi back. BTW, that is total horse shit, that business about "no raw things," because women in Japan and France have babies all the time, I'm told. Grrrrr.
My brother-in-law made the very good point that in Japan, the traffic of raw fish is highly regulated, but here it is not. I don't know if that's true; sometimes he just makes stuff up. The very good point he made was actually made was 'better safe than sorry,' (Also, women in Japan - and France - may get the same advice we do. Sure they're having babies, but we don't know what they eat, do we?)
And what kind of babies are they having in France, anyway? FRENCH babies. Do we really want that???
I am laughing again because you sound like my HUSBAND, Miss Anna!
Are you going the Wonder Woman route sans fancy drugs?
Height aside, I bear little resemblance to Lynda Carter. Thus, I'm leaving the possibility of drugs wide open. I'd like to see how far I get without them, but I also recognize that deep down I'm a complete and total pain wimp. As opposed to my spouse, who labored for 24 hours before they induced and gave her the ol' needle to the spine. She's the superhero in the house.
HEY!!
I resemble that remark. But, just to be clear, I prefer to call it, in the words of the great David Mamet: "A gift for fiction."
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