100 Days to Go and No, I'm Not Abnormally Large

A word out there to all who love to comment on pregnant women's bellies.  Please stop saying we look (any of the following) huge, humongous, bigger than normal, gigantic, super sized, due any day now, way bigger than you should be.  It's not nice to say.  

I know because 1) I'm pregnant and I've been getting comments like this for over a month, all from men.  And 2) I know other pregnant ladies, and they hate it, too...more than I do, actually.  They are ready to inflict pain upon the next person who says a word about their size.

And it doesn't just mean the woman feels fat.  Not at all.  In fact, according to some skinny women I've talked to, it's just as bothersome to be called "small" or "tiny."  It's all about the fact that every pregnant woman is different, and every pregnancy is different.  You simply can't compare one woman with the next.  We all have our sizes and shapes, and we all carry it differently.  

For me, it's more about the fact that I've had two miscarriages and am completely freaked out about anything that may be out of the norm for this third pregnancy.  Everything makes me nervous, including stupid sonograms that tell me I'm measuring too far ahead, or that my due date is inaccurate, or that there's excess skin at the back of the baby's neck that could be a problem.  

I have dreams about the baby dying in utero, or having Down Syndrome.  I have nightmares about something happening before the birth that will hurt the baby, or make the baby unhealthy.  Or I think, "Maybe it's too late?  I already f#%ed everything up."

I've been to therapy about it, talked to counselors about it, and my OBGYN is concerned about it.  It's just the thing that I'm dealing with and trying to control with every ounce of my being.  I swallow my fear on a daily basis and try to remain positive and calm for the sake of the pregnancy.  It doesn't always work, however.

So telling me I'm "huge for my month" is not the best thing to say, as you can probably guess.

I know intentions are always good.  I know that people are trying to be "supportive."  I'm just letting you-who-like-to-comment-about-bellies know that it does not come off that way.  No one likes to be compared to the size of a whale.

To recap:  Whales are humongous.  Pregnant women glow.  

Spring Cleaning

Being the co-dependent I am, I'm starting to feel the need to purge my world again. Lately, I've been feeling the pressure of everything, including friendships and family.

When I start noticing an emotional tidal wave brewing on the horizon, I tend to look at the people who have been causing the most anxiety and stop communicating with them indefintely. This goes for family, too. There have been years when I haven't spoken to siblings or my father/mother because of the need to self-preserve.

I'm not saying this is a good way to go, but I have been this way my entire life. It's a trait I picked up when dealing with psychotic relatives, and it's a survival mechanism that has been both good and bad for me in times of crisis.

Now that I'm pregnant, it feels more dire. The feeling of having this other person to take care of makes me want to protect myself more. So when I have fights that seem redundant and ridiculous, I make decisions that I believe will help save my sanity. I've given up many friends over the years because of this.

Lately, I've had doubts about a couple of people, one of whom was very close to me. The other, not so much, but definitely a part of my life. The former went through a personality change I could not keep up with, nor did I want to. We haven't spoken in six months. It was a relatively quiet end, and one I don't think will last forever. We were similar once, and I still hold out hope that we will be similar once again.

The other is a high-strung, high-maintenance person who is kind, but narcissistic. We never really knew each other that well, so dealing with his attitude and outbursts became tiresome very quickly. The last argument was such an exhausting ordeal I finally gave up. In my head, it was not worth the insecurity, anxiety, and worry over someone you never really felt a kinship to anyway.

I find that my part in all of this, what I am responsible for, is the fact that I let people in and never quite assert myself until it is too late. Blow ups and confrontations are my least favorite thing. Unfortunately, I let toxic friendships continue on until something truly specatcular and terrible happens. It seems that only then I can let it go.

And even then, I dwell. I blame myself. I get mad. I cry. Letting go of resentment is the hardest thing to do when you're co-dependent. But in the end, I have to remind myself constantly to hold on to the valuable people in your lives and let the rest go.

This baby on the way has definitely jacked up my protective nature. Survival instincts are in full effect, and everything compared to a baby seems miniscule in comparison.

Week 25

GOOOOOALLLLLL...

We've hit a goal...week 25.  What this means is basically I'm within a reasonable range of "safety."  There is a 70% chance baby can survive outside of the womb.  Of course, that would mean a 55% chance of serious medical complications, depending on size, weight, lung development, etc...

However, considering how I've worried and sweated over this pregnancy since day one, I'm finally breathing a sigh of relief.  It's a small sigh, but it's there.  

On the complaining side of things, my right hand has been tingling and in pain for over a week now, which I hear is normal for pregnancy.  It's been one of the most annoying symptoms I've experienced, since it hinders me from writing and working.

Ok, I'm pinched.  It hinders me from playing with the remote to the Tivo.

The Human Whoopie Cushion

I am full of air.  It feels like air, at least.  It isn't offensive at all, but the sounds I have been making lately are all too embarrassing, considering I berate my husband about doing exactly the same thing on a regular basis.

I have an excuse, whereas he has none...except that he is a boy, and boys are, by nature, kind of gassy and stinky and unabashedly burpy.  

My excuse is far better, in my humble opinion.  I have a BABY sitting on my vital internal organs, and it's having a blast squishing everything around and making mom into a human whoopie cushion.  

Hilarity knows no bounds after a meal of chili mac and a fruit smoothie.  

Week 24

Lunchbox Alternative

Every night I take off my humongous bra, and nearly every night I find food.  Weird food.  And mostly food I don't remember having eaten.  Disturbing to most, a tasty midnight snack for pregnant women who can't bend down to eat things off the floor.  Yes, I'm starving.

And really, if I'm starving, so is the baby.  (Insert additional common rationalization for disgusting behavior here.)

The other night, I reached down and felt something poke me.  French fry.  When did I eat a french fry last?  For the life of me, I can not remember.  Said French fry was dry, hard, and a peculiar color that would not be of any fried potato on the planet. 

Knowing full well there was a refrigerator full of fresh, lovely food upstairs, I questioned whether it was worth waddling myself up to the top floor of my house for a nutritious snack.  And when I asked myself that particular question, there was no answer.  (*pregnant craving crickets*)

The answer to your upcoming question is a shameful YES. 

The Pregnant Pause

Just lately, random kids have started pointed at my belly and saying things to me.  Mostly, "Is there a BABY in there?"

And I always try to answer thoughtfully, knowing that since the release of Alien, Aliens, and Alien 3, there are different ways to reply to that particular question.

My first reply is always the very calm, "Yes, there is a baby in there."

But honestly, my first urge is to start screaming uncontrollably, drop to the floor and start writhing, all the while screaming, "ALIEN!! ALIEN!!"

My child hasn't been born yet, so you would have no case with Child Protective Services, FYI.

Papaya

Week 23