Life's Just Peachy

When it comes to the things I have to go through as a woman, I admit that there are days (months currently) where I wish I was a man. Being a woman is tough, and I could go on a feminist like rant, but I spent most of my energy writing the rest of this post. I’ll save feminism for another day. Today I’m letting the world know why I personally hate this “beautiful” thing called the miracle of life.  

Why I hate being pregnant:

Eating feels like a chore. What was once something that I loved to do, because I enjoyed cooking, has now turned into something I have to do if I don’t want to pass out, or, you know, mess up my fetus.  

Prego nose. I get the whole, hating the smell of something keeps you from eating things that could hurt your baby. It’s like being a dog, but instead of getting excited and investigating I need to puke and run in the other direction.

Feeling like I’m on the verge of vomiting at any moment. No joke. I’m on the strongest anti-nausea medication they’ve got, and I still have to deal with the whole- “is it a burp or am I going to really lose the lunch I just barely coaxed into this ungrateful thing called a stomach?” To all those who want to offer advice… the best advice I stick to is eat what you don’t throw up. Everything else that people recommend, I immediately shove out the other ear. Congratulations to you wonderful mothers out there who feel fine… I’d like to trade places and I’ll have the happy pregnancy, and you can have this one.

No energy. Don’t matter if I’ve actually eaten a real meal, sipped all the water in the world, and got a good night’s sleep- this baby sucks my energy like Jim Butcher’s White Court Vampires. When I do have energy- I use it up on stupid things… like putting on clothes so I can run to the bathroom to pee (why can't my cabin at scout camp have a built in bathroom?).

Speaking of bathrooms….

Constipation. Is. The. Worst. Think about it people, stepping on a lego as a curse for your worst enemy? Please! Stepping on a lego hurts for minute and then you kick that sucker away from you like it has the plague and you move on with life. Constipation? Constipation is sitting on the toilet for an HOUR trying to squeeze something, anything out of you, and being convinced that you will pass out from the strain, only to wake up and find that NOTHING HAPPENED. Then add the pain of sitting after your little trip to the bathroom. It now ranks number 1 on my list of things to curse people with. It doesn’t help that my prenatal vitamins, the antibiotics I’m on, oh and that wonderful stuff that keeps me from dying (anti-nausea), all cause this wonderful bodily experience. I hate things that are supposed to make me feel functional only mess me up more.

Clothes are evil. Too hot, too cold… and pants! Why do you have these awful zipper and button contraptions? If I button you, you’re too tight and my stomach screams at me. If I use the hair tie trick, I get pantsed by my pants! So I sit here like a slob in the same sweat pants I’ve worn all week, happy that something will sit low on my hips so this fetus can continue to grow. By the way did I mention bras? They’re just mean in general… but once your breasts get bigger, they are super sensitive bricks disguised as balloons that coincidentally have feelings that come across as: “OW! Why did you put me in these boob pockets?” which then turns into “OW! Why did you take me out of the boob pockets?”  

Nobody treats me like a person anymore. I am now “The Prego Lady” which leads to one of three conversations (with word variation of course) 1) “How are you feeling?” 2) “Parenting advice/look at all my grandchildren” or 3) “Let’s talk about MY pregnancy!” I now become the recipient of the pity pats on the head if dealing with conversation one, followed by a “You’ll be happy when it’s over/when baby’s here/it’s the most wonderful experience, embrace it.”  Conversation two is even more fun, because then I get to be told all about how to raise my children so they don’t become spoiled/lazy/overactive/or become a clown that puts on magic shows in Texas. If I’m talking to the older ladies and gents, they automatically assume that I want to hear about all their grandchildren and see how cute they are. Nope. No I don’t. While I think you’re a nice person, this whole time you’ve been talking, I’ve been praying that my gag reflex would kick in(when it’s actually convenient) so I could excuse myself from this lovely little chat. Conversation three is my absolute favorite, because it’s all about you! Yep, because I totally want to hear about how you had no pain/nausea/food aversions, you little perfect angel you. So glad you can, you know, share your infinite pregnancy wisdom upon such a humble person such as myself.  Basically when I became pregnant, it was basically: “you must sit down, shut up, and let everyone else do the talking.” I don’t remember the last time anyone asked me what my favorite book was, or what I’m studying in college, or why I dyed my hair lavender.

Pregnancy Cramps. Okay girls. You know cramping? When your uterus is telling you in the most evil way possible “thanks for not appreciating this egg I worked so hard to make just right for you.”? Yeah… now think about that uterus of yours getting bigger and slowly pulling your abs apart so it can make room for a baby that will only make it worse. Yup. Cramps are just prep for worse cramps. Thank you Mother Nature… you’re just… so… wonderful for preparing me for the worst experience ever.

Personally, I want to call it quits. I really am done being pregnant. I don’t care what people say about “don’t let the baby hear that” or “you’ll forget all about it once you’re holding your baby”. First, everything I say to my baby probably sounds like garble. He/she can probably only hear its own heartbeat right now. Second, yeah… once I’m holding my baby sure, I’ll be happy. But you forgot to mention the six weeks or so it takes to physically recover from birthing that baby, accompanied with taking care of that baby at the same time. Lack of sleep, crying, having my body actually produce a liquid I find repugnant above all others and feeding that liquid to said child, and changing all those diapers and being in a diaper myself? That’s supposed to make me feel better about the Hell I’m going through? Gee thanks people! You sure sugar coat mothering with the foggiest rose colored glasses I’ve ever seen.  

I love kids, I do. I just don’t enjoy growing them. To put it simply MY pregnancy feels like having the flu while on my period while gaining weight because of a vindictive parasite that enjoys making me cry. I basically live in bed or in a bathroom feeling like death. Life’s just peachy.