Mothers unite! Nearing the end of a pregnancy means we feel like a celestial object orbiting somewhere East of Pluto. No matter how big or little we are before pregnancy, by the end, the once-considered "delicate" condition is everything but.
Now that my pregnancy is nearing the end, I'm seeing my doctor twice a week. The baby is healthy, leaving little to discuss with all the face-to-face time with Doc.
At first I complained about the discomfort and sleeplessness. Doc dutifully listened, empathized, then shrugged. There was nothing he could do. It's part of the deal.
I stopped complaining.
As I struggle, my husband dutifully asks if I'm OK, to which I answer, "I'm just pregnant." He laughs. I puke.
There are so many, um, challenges that pregnant women are forced to endure. Non-moms just don't get it. Instead of complaining, here is my list of things I'm choosing not to complain about.
- Baby brain is alive and well. We loose our minds. We can't finish sentences. We forget where we put stuff. Mental focus is nearly non-existent. Pregnancy is God's way of making women practice being elderly.
- Getting dressed is a bitch. The baby takes all my oxygen, so I huff and puff just to find the head and arm holes of my top. Socks? Fahgettaboutit.
- Nothing fits. Even when I could reach my feet, the jeans still didn't fit. They either cut off circulation under the belly, or they slide up over the belly, frequently sliding back down. I feel like Ed Grimley pulling them up all day long.
- Maternity clothes come in two options: moo-moo tents or elastic spandex. Comfortable? Ha!
- Puffy, puffy, puffy. Especially during the end of the pregnancy, our faces spread out. Eyes get puffy. No matter how much makeup, or how fancy I curl my hair, I still look pregnant.
- Fat fingers. There is a high correlation between carpal tunnel and pregnancy. Basically, the wrists get clogged up to varying degrees, and fingers stop working. I'll break more dishes just from dropping them than I do any other decade combined.
- Fall down, go boom. Fellas, try strapping 20, 30, 40 pounds to the front of ya and see how balanced you feel. My poor toddler broke free of my grip and darted out into the street. Taking off after him, my belly momentum ended up knocking us both over in the street. Poor kiddo.
- Becoming a pipe organ. Usually at the most embarrassing public moments, a simple lean to one side in a chair turns a pregnant woman into a musical instrument. Toots, burps and acid reflux are not harmonious.
- Nine months? Do the math! Pregnancy is 40 weeks, which equals ten months. If the baby is born past its due date, it is actually born in the 11th month.
- A creature is alive inside me. The first time I felt my son kick, I cried joyfully. He liked to stretch out. Born 8 pounds 10.5 ounces, while in utero, his big feet inevitably ended up in my rib cage. Hubby had to push back on my ribs to keep our son from breaking out of jail the wrong way.
Now pregnant with a little girl, she is constantly on the move. She does barrel rolls, back flips literally non-stop all day long. She is either going to be a Solid Gold dancer or a Rockette.
Despite a mom-to-be's total lack of sleep, I love being pregnant. Certainly, the benefits outweigh the complaints. These 10 months are a very special bond between mamma and baby.
Nevertheless, as I list the challenges I choose not to complain about, I realize the making of the list is quite helpful. As my children grow up, I'm going to need to have something to blame them for.
"I have sacrificed for you in the most difficult ways, blagh, blagh, blagh, I carried you for nearly a year in my womb without sleep, blagh, blagh, blagh, up hill both ways in the snow, blagh, blagh, blagh ... "
After all, as parents, we have to give our children something to tell their therapists about.