Y’all – long time no talk. The prodigal child hath returned. (That’s me, not you. I’m the prodigal child) I’ve been busy getting married (yay me) and immediately getting myself knocked up. Becoming impregnated has been a fun adventure in everything that’s harrowing about the world – like constipation, vomiting and anger. 1.5/10 would not recommend. And here’s the best part – are you ready for the best part? Your fellow women who have been through pregnancy will make you feel like an inferior life-giving vessel for not basking in the glory that IS pregnancy 100% of the time. My third eye is not open, and my flower crown has not arrived. I do not own a lace gown I can prance around and worship my belly in. I thought us women had a kinship over shared awful experiences like trying to navigate the horrifying dating world, periods, and (I assumed) pregnancy. Turns out the unsolicited advice starts the second you announce – really looking forward to that rolling over into unsolicited parenting advice.
SO – join me won’t you? On the journey that’s been one fun symptom after another.
- Morning sickness. Amy Schumer was right when she said that the media portrays morning sickness like a cute little thing that happens once in the morning and the dumb chick is like ,”oh, I’m late! Better get a pregnancy test!”. Turns out morning sickness is more like all day sickness. My entire first trimester I ralfed at least three times a day. This was worsened by the fact that every single asshole and their dog had a solution for me. It went from the banal: “Oh sweetie. I had morning sickness too, just terrible”, to the absolutely unsolicited: “You know, when I was pregnant I used to keep an entire head of celery and fresh spring water from the Himalayas beside my bed – you should also try crackers made from the tears of small Mexican children, literally a life saver!” I was going through this bullshit all at the same time as starting a new job – where the bathroom is in the basement. I didn’t make it to the toilet on several occasions. Turns out just putting your hands up to your mouth doesn’t help when puke come violently spraying out, it just splashes it back in your face, like the worlds worst slap in the face. Who knew?
- A truly torrid relationship with my bowels. When I was first prescribed something for my morning sickness it bunged me up six ways to Sunday. This led to me bracing my hands on the bathroom wall anytime I had to do the doo. The inevitable consequence of this is getting sick again, except it’s because you’re full of poo. (YOU’RE DAMNED IF YOU DO) I cycled through a few meds for sickness which landed me on one of two ends of the most horrible fecal-spectrum. Too much or literally nothing at all.
- Levels of agitation that I have yet to experience in my non-pregnancy life. Y’all… people are so fucking annoying when you’re pregnant. If someones not telling you all about their pregnancy – about how they loved being pregnant, or how THIS worked for them, or how their asshole ripped completely open during labor – they’re asking you questions or putting their dirty hands all over your belly. Oh you worked right up until you popped? How great FOR YOU! I hope you get hit by a car. Here’s a short list of my favourite lines that make wanna rip out my uterus and throw it:
- “Ooohh look at you, when are you due? Oooo so exciting! Your first?”
- “How are you feeeeeling?”
- “Do you know what you’re having? Oh a girl! Oh GET READY!”
- “Oh look at you! Shouldn’t you be home already?”
- “I just can’t believe it – I wasn’t sick for even a single day in my pregnancy!”
- “Got a ways to go yet huh? Must be feeling a little uncomfortable hey?”
- Constant urination. Now that I’m in my third trimester I piss every six seconds. Oh and it’s usually only like 6 drips – super productive use of my time. This includes waking up a minimum of five times a night only to stand up (which now is like folding a bowling ball in half) and have the weight of this eggplant crash down onto my pelvis/bladder/vulva. Truly. A. Joy.
- Other things: sofa king tired all the god damn time. Like hit by a truck tired. Like, on my eighth day of a bender tired. A very terrible taste in my mouth all the time. Swollen feet, unbelievably itchy skin, a disturbing, uncomfortable-to-look-at belly button, swinging from ire to tears in a matter of six seconds, breathlessness, aggressive hostile heartburn, and of course, an inability to eat large meals ‘CAUSE THERE IS NO GOD DAMN ROOM LEFT.
How people do this with an existing small human is beyond me. And hey. That isn’t an invitation for you to tell me all about how it is. You wanna interact with me? Bring me food. That’s all I want and all I’ll take. Slurpees are good too. Don’t fucking upset me.