37 weeks, crying myself to sleep. I don’t cry because of my hormones, unlike what some would say, I cry because I’m tired. I’m tired of not being able to roll over. I’m tired of not being able to sleep. I’m tired of second guessing every word I say because people assume you are suddenly unintelligent, as though the package you are carrying, a life inside of you, has made you less of a person. I’m exhausted with it.
I’m over biting my tongue listening to everyone around me complain about their hard job, or their back pain, or the grocery not having what they need, when it is agony just to bend over. I’ve gone from a fully autonomous and independent woman, to a chick that can’t get out of the bathtub by myself. To someone that if I say anything that isn’t 100% upbeat, I am labeled emotional unstable. It is very lonely.
It’s not something you really want to talk about, because then people don’t think you appreciate the gift of carrying another life. Don’t get me wrong, I am very excited about this pregnancy and the opportunity it holds, but it has come at the cost of me. I am no more. I am merely a vessel to this baby. No one looks at you the same - and it’s not just the boobs the size of your head, or the sallow skin and bags around your eyes. It’s not just the belly protruding so far you knock stuff over because you can no longer see it or the ankles that resemble calves. It’s that people no longer see you as who you were before baby. You are no longer sexy, educated or professional. You are a pregnant lady.
Before I’m labeled as feeling sorry for myself or having a pity party, know that is not the case. I’m a realist. I find comfort in expressing what it is I feel, and I feel lost, sweaty and forgotten. I feel like I am trapped and lost inside this bloated body that I no longer recognize. And no more of this gentlemanly valor, guys of this generation can’t be bothered to hold a door for an elderly woman much less stop at a crosswalk for a pregnant woman or help her to the car with her groceries. I honestly thought the saving grace for expecting and coming to term in full humid southern summer would be someone holding the door for me. I was wrong.
I was wrong about a great many things. I am tired of self depreciating humor and pretending peoples jokes about my burgeoning belly are as funny as they think. I am past everyone telling me I know nothing because this is my first baby. I am done with acting as though I feel fine and have all the energy in the world, when I feel as though I am going it alone and could literally fall asleep standing. I get that I am not the only woman to have ever been pregnant or a first time mother, but that doesn’t mean that this isn’t an entirely new experience for me, that I am not feeling anxiety and fear, that I am not questioning or second guessing this decision. I get that when he is here I will experience a new level of tired and exhaustion. But for the moment, I am where I am. I have the experience I have, and am still the woman I’ve always been, screaming inside, dying to be recognized as someone other that Jamis’ ride. And being repeatedly told that other external people can’t wait until he is here and I’m no longer pregnant. Yeah? Well me too.
I’m having to remind myself of this daily at the moment. 35 weeks and counting…
I think listening to Rage Against the Machine at work makes me less sensitive.
A for Effort?
My husband made me dinner tonight. 6 whole Morningstar farms nuggets. Yeah, that MIGHT be enough for a 2 year old…. I’m 8 months pregnant.
It’s not that men don’t take subtle hints. It’s that they don’t take ANY hints
New development of pregnancy - back pain. I’m seriously considering putting out a Craig’s list add for full time back rubber. Good times!
Lying here listening to the rhythmic breathing of my sweet husband, being kept awake by what I imagine are little feet and little hands kneading either side in my belly. It’s crazy to think there is a little person in there, crazier still that he’ll be here in a few short weeks. I had lunch with a girlfriend today and she mentioned that if I’m 31 weeks, there’s only 9 more to go. I’m so ready and not ready at all - a point people are quick to remind you of, as though they were never first time parents. It’s funny how time and experience make you forget.
For now, I’m going to rest here in the still of the night, getting a massage by tiny little extremities that I’ll be able to see and kiss before to much longer. What on Earth were we thinking?!