If pregnancy were a class, my grade would be a C-
Yeah, I just don't think I make a very good pregnant woman. Cases in point:
~The whining. I used to try to confine it to the indulgent folks over at Phantom Scribbler's Wednesday Whining thread, but that moment of restraint ended long ago. These days, I whine to anyone who will listen -- including the counter girl at Taco Bell who had the nerve to serve me a Sierra Mist without any syrup in it. Friends politely ask how I am feeling, and I respond with a 20-minute treatise on the last time I threw up, the current list of food I find appealing, the relative tightness of my waistband and how well I am sleeping. Someone needs to tell me to shut up. And then sit on me when words continue to come spewing out my mouth.
~The inability to feed myself at regular intervals, despite the fact that doing so dramatically reduces -- if not eliminates -- my nausea. I got up a little before 9 this morning and had a bowl of cereal. For the next several hours, I sat at the computer in my pajamas, doing some work and then fooling around. I kept thinking that I needed to get something to eat -- typically I have to eat second breakfast about 90 minutes after the first -- but sheer laziness kept my unwashed self in the chair. Finally, at 12:30, I was so nauseated that I couldn't even open the refrigerator. Had to munch on saltines for a while until I could bear to pull out a pot and the Annie's from the pantry. Later, ate the entire box of mac and cheese.
~My distaste for cheesy pregnancy-related tchotchkes. Yet another topic about which I have whined to the commenting pixies. Why does the stuffed, extremely pregnant bear with "baby on board" on its stupid yellow T-shirt bother me so much? And why am I so irrationally opposed to the idea of an all-female baby shower... something I know my mother-in-law must already be planning, complete with games. Games. Ugh.
~My general lack of interest in frilly baby stuff to begin with. The baby's room -- which I refuse to call a nursery, because isn't that something that wealthy English people have, and isn't it ruled by the nanny? -- is going to be orange, and it will have a bare minimum of frilly foo-foo nonsense. Some nice, bright prints, maybe a mobile -- won't that suffice?
~The very small number of questions I have for my doctors. They seem to be expecting a deluge of queries every time we go... and I just don't have 'em. In part that's because I read the Sears pregnancy book -- and use Dr. Google -- whenever I have questions. And in part because I feel like this event is largely going on without any conscious action on my part, so there's not much I can really do about it. (Although obviously I am eating as well as I can, all things considered, taking my vitamins religiously, thinking about getting some exercise, etc.)
~And that gets to the heart of what I think is bothering me: I feel strangely detached from this pregnancy. I don't feel a sense of connection with the bambino/a at all -- despite how clear it is that he or she is, in fact, in there (and apparently trying to kill me) -- and I plain and simple have not enjoyed being pregnant thus far. I keep waiting for that second trimester spurt of energy (not to mention the cessation of the nausea) and it's just not coming. I am spending a lot of time wishing that this stage were over.
Wasn't it just a week or so ago that I was writing about learning from Darcy about living in the present, being grateful for the life you've got? Well, it ain't happening right now. I think in part that's because so much of my life is in limbo right now -- I don't start my new job until next week, the holiday frenzy is already over, I'm trying to line up some freelance work but nothing has come through so far... I spend lots of time being busy, but not a ton of time actually accomplishing anything. And I guess that's how being pregnant feels, too -- like it is proceeding verrry slowly with nothing to show for it.
~The whining. I used to try to confine it to the indulgent folks over at Phantom Scribbler's Wednesday Whining thread, but that moment of restraint ended long ago. These days, I whine to anyone who will listen -- including the counter girl at Taco Bell who had the nerve to serve me a Sierra Mist without any syrup in it. Friends politely ask how I am feeling, and I respond with a 20-minute treatise on the last time I threw up, the current list of food I find appealing, the relative tightness of my waistband and how well I am sleeping. Someone needs to tell me to shut up. And then sit on me when words continue to come spewing out my mouth.
~The inability to feed myself at regular intervals, despite the fact that doing so dramatically reduces -- if not eliminates -- my nausea. I got up a little before 9 this morning and had a bowl of cereal. For the next several hours, I sat at the computer in my pajamas, doing some work and then fooling around. I kept thinking that I needed to get something to eat -- typically I have to eat second breakfast about 90 minutes after the first -- but sheer laziness kept my unwashed self in the chair. Finally, at 12:30, I was so nauseated that I couldn't even open the refrigerator. Had to munch on saltines for a while until I could bear to pull out a pot and the Annie's from the pantry. Later, ate the entire box of mac and cheese.
~My distaste for cheesy pregnancy-related tchotchkes. Yet another topic about which I have whined to the commenting pixies. Why does the stuffed, extremely pregnant bear with "baby on board" on its stupid yellow T-shirt bother me so much? And why am I so irrationally opposed to the idea of an all-female baby shower... something I know my mother-in-law must already be planning, complete with games. Games. Ugh.
~My general lack of interest in frilly baby stuff to begin with. The baby's room -- which I refuse to call a nursery, because isn't that something that wealthy English people have, and isn't it ruled by the nanny? -- is going to be orange, and it will have a bare minimum of frilly foo-foo nonsense. Some nice, bright prints, maybe a mobile -- won't that suffice?
~The very small number of questions I have for my doctors. They seem to be expecting a deluge of queries every time we go... and I just don't have 'em. In part that's because I read the Sears pregnancy book -- and use Dr. Google -- whenever I have questions. And in part because I feel like this event is largely going on without any conscious action on my part, so there's not much I can really do about it. (Although obviously I am eating as well as I can, all things considered, taking my vitamins religiously, thinking about getting some exercise, etc.)
~And that gets to the heart of what I think is bothering me: I feel strangely detached from this pregnancy. I don't feel a sense of connection with the bambino/a at all -- despite how clear it is that he or she is, in fact, in there (and apparently trying to kill me) -- and I plain and simple have not enjoyed being pregnant thus far. I keep waiting for that second trimester spurt of energy (not to mention the cessation of the nausea) and it's just not coming. I am spending a lot of time wishing that this stage were over.
Wasn't it just a week or so ago that I was writing about learning from Darcy about living in the present, being grateful for the life you've got? Well, it ain't happening right now. I think in part that's because so much of my life is in limbo right now -- I don't start my new job until next week, the holiday frenzy is already over, I'm trying to line up some freelance work but nothing has come through so far... I spend lots of time being busy, but not a ton of time actually accomplishing anything. And I guess that's how being pregnant feels, too -- like it is proceeding verrry slowly with nothing to show for it.
posted by mc at 5:35 PM
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