There's a whole lot of lovely about being pregnant.
For example, everyone tells me I'm glowing. Sure, when everyone uses the same word to describe the same person, you might be tempted to think it's something in our programming or wiring, like we have to say that. Whether or not non-pregnant people are exercising free will is entirely irrelevant. I say bring on the attention!
And here's why:
I'm getting into this attention for one reason, and one reason alone: this is the only time in my life where the following statement is true. Everything's About Me. I'm the one growing a baby. I'm the one sacrificing my figure for the miracle that is taking place within my womb. I'm the one that's going to labor labor labor and then subsequently birth a squawking little half-pint. And let's not forget the hubs, because he deserves attention too. For the record, he's the one doing all the heavy lifting. He's the one sterilizing with non-pregnant-friendly cleaning supplies when I'm not home. He's the one offering me daily back-rubs and tolerating my mood swings. He's the one comforting me and reassuring me that I'm going to be a good mother. And he's the one speaking to his baby the way only a daddy-to-be could. Oh yeah, he's also letting me know when I find myself speaking hormone and not English or Spanish. Truth be told, it's all about us.
Soaking up all of this attention, I've simultaneously developed enough foresight to know that as soon as this little tyke debuts, all attention shifts directly to that less-than-10-pound sweet little sack of potatoes. May as well enjoy it while it lasts, right?
Then there are parts of being pregnant that make me wish this were an anonymous blog just so I could really be, like, brutally, unabashedly honest. There's stuff that I'm just flat embarrassed to admit. I'm working on finding some courage with this one, but for now, here's a teaser << and this also gets to the point of the post's title- it's not all sunshine and rainbows with a baby-on-board- there are legitimately un-lovely things about being pregnant >>.
Remember back in middle school, some of the later-to-bloom young ladies would stuff their bras with kleenex, or... God forbid... SOCKS? Well, I was never one of those girls. In fact, of my 3 sisters, I think my girls were the biggest when we were in high school. But all 3 of us have had boobie-size-changes for one reason or another, and I no longer have the right to lay claim to that title << well, obviously right now I'd take the cake, but pre-preggo there wasn't a chance >>. It's all about cleavage and low back ache these days.
Sleeping with these girls has become... cumbersome. Since early on I've had to contain them in a nice, cotton sports bra for sleeping. That's right. A uni-boob inducing, unflatteringly masculine sports bra. So now, even with the tata's in a sling, they're still all over the place. If I lay on my side, they smush each other, and it's to the point that I'll wake up with a long, red, crease down the center of my chest **GASP** << it's reminiscent of a wrinkle, which makes me feel exceeeeeeedingly old... don't judge. I know I'm getting old. I'm just now processing my body image shift into pregnancy... I'm not ready to process wrinkles... back off! Remember, it's all about me right now >>. So the other night while taking a shower I started pondering ways to get around the daily chest crease each morning.
And I had a stroke of genius.
It hit me like a ton of bricks << okay, now everyone fall down, or sit down, or switch seats, or... how does that game go again? >>.
SOCKS. Between the boobs. That's right. A soft, cotton barrier to keep one girl from flattening into the other girl. Brilliant, right?
It's worked like a charm ever since I came up with it. And for the record, this is my idea. You may not steal it, copyright it, and then become rich off of it. Who am I kidding? They already make $100 pillows for preggo's to place between their knees in order to sleep at night- I'm sure there's a $75 boobie pillow out there already.
The other night I had the designated socks sitting beside me on my pillow while I was reading before bed. The hubs walks in and says, "That's a perfectly appropriate place to leave your socks," at which point I was forced to remind him of the purpose of said socks.
He just laughed and laughed and laughed, which is a good thing and is something we're doing a lot of these days.
In closing here's my grocery list sticky note from last week. When I think about my Ranch dressing, I fall into a giggle fit. It's mighty fun(ny) being pregnant!
For example, everyone tells me I'm glowing. Sure, when everyone uses the same word to describe the same person, you might be tempted to think it's something in our programming or wiring, like we have to say that. Whether or not non-pregnant people are exercising free will is entirely irrelevant. I say bring on the attention!
And here's why:
I'm getting into this attention for one reason, and one reason alone: this is the only time in my life where the following statement is true. Everything's About Me. I'm the one growing a baby. I'm the one sacrificing my figure for the miracle that is taking place within my womb. I'm the one that's going to labor labor labor and then subsequently birth a squawking little half-pint. And let's not forget the hubs, because he deserves attention too. For the record, he's the one doing all the heavy lifting. He's the one sterilizing with non-pregnant-friendly cleaning supplies when I'm not home. He's the one offering me daily back-rubs and tolerating my mood swings. He's the one comforting me and reassuring me that I'm going to be a good mother. And he's the one speaking to his baby the way only a daddy-to-be could. Oh yeah, he's also letting me know when I find myself speaking hormone and not English or Spanish. Truth be told, it's all about us.
Soaking up all of this attention, I've simultaneously developed enough foresight to know that as soon as this little tyke debuts, all attention shifts directly to that less-than-10-pound sweet little sack of potatoes. May as well enjoy it while it lasts, right?
Then there are parts of being pregnant that make me wish this were an anonymous blog just so I could really be, like, brutally, unabashedly honest. There's stuff that I'm just flat embarrassed to admit. I'm working on finding some courage with this one, but for now, here's a teaser << and this also gets to the point of the post's title- it's not all sunshine and rainbows with a baby-on-board- there are legitimately un-lovely things about being pregnant >>.
Remember back in middle school, some of the later-to-bloom young ladies would stuff their bras with kleenex, or... God forbid... SOCKS? Well, I was never one of those girls. In fact, of my 3 sisters, I think my girls were the biggest when we were in high school. But all 3 of us have had boobie-size-changes for one reason or another, and I no longer have the right to lay claim to that title << well, obviously right now I'd take the cake, but pre-preggo there wasn't a chance >>. It's all about cleavage and low back ache these days.
Sleeping with these girls has become... cumbersome. Since early on I've had to contain them in a nice, cotton sports bra for sleeping. That's right. A uni-boob inducing, unflatteringly masculine sports bra. So now, even with the tata's in a sling, they're still all over the place. If I lay on my side, they smush each other, and it's to the point that I'll wake up with a long, red, crease down the center of my chest **GASP** << it's reminiscent of a wrinkle, which makes me feel exceeeeeeedingly old... don't judge. I know I'm getting old. I'm just now processing my body image shift into pregnancy... I'm not ready to process wrinkles... back off! Remember, it's all about me right now >>. So the other night while taking a shower I started pondering ways to get around the daily chest crease each morning.
And I had a stroke of genius.
It hit me like a ton of bricks << okay, now everyone fall down, or sit down, or switch seats, or... how does that game go again? >>.
 |
| I've become one of those late-bloomers from middle school. I stuff my bra with socks, at night no less. |
It's worked like a charm ever since I came up with it. And for the record, this is my idea. You may not steal it, copyright it, and then become rich off of it. Who am I kidding? They already make $100 pillows for preggo's to place between their knees in order to sleep at night- I'm sure there's a $75 boobie pillow out there already.
The other night I had the designated socks sitting beside me on my pillow while I was reading before bed. The hubs walks in and says, "That's a perfectly appropriate place to leave your socks," at which point I was forced to remind him of the purpose of said socks.
He just laughed and laughed and laughed, which is a good thing and is something we're doing a lot of these days.
In closing here's my grocery list sticky note from last week. When I think about my Ranch dressing, I fall into a giggle fit. It's mighty fun(ny) being pregnant!
 |
| This was serious and altogether legitimate. |
No comments:
Post a Comment