A Note on Pregnancy

Sometimes I feel like a beached whale. Sometimes I feel like a peaceful manatee that just got struck broadside by a speedboat. In a boiling ocean. With shrieking eels trying persistently to climb on its lap.

Generally I feel guilty about whining about pregnancy. I have some good friends who have struggled for years with infertility, and others who miscarry, and probably there are others of my acquaintance who are in these boats and I don't even know about it. I do feel like an ungrateful wretch, but lately this has just gotten too sucky NOT to whine.

I acknowledge that I conceive and carry to full term wonderful healthy babies. Also I puke a lot. Mostly in the first trimester, always some in the second trimester, and if it is a girl, all 3. Good thing I like baby girls pretty well. I get remarkably tired and achy. These are all pretty typical symptoms, and not hardly worth a rant. But let me tell you about my third trimesters.

I go crazy. I don't just mean a bit cranky and weepy and forgetful. It gets ridiculous. When #2 was en utero, my OB requested I go get a psych eval at the ER, so we could facilitate my disability leave from work. Do you know that if you get a psych eval at the ER regardless of your symptoms that bring you there, they have protocols that include a rubber room and a paper suit and going through your personal belongings to ensure you don't have anything that might hurt yourself or others? It was then I realized that I carry a lot of pens in my purse. Like 15. Each one the nurse pulled out after about 4, she would look over dubiously at AJ, like, "did you KNOW you were married to this??" I stopped carrying pens at all for about 2 years. I'm better now. 4-5 max.

This pregnancy is also crazy-making. Yesterday I was thinking of calling up my bff to talk about Thanksgiving plans, but then I thought I would probably die in a car accident if I did, and that would be fine, but what about the woman that AJ married next? So I'm walking through the grocery store, sobbing, because what if she's fun and he prefers her? Or what if she's not, and my kids suffer from a lame step-mother? So thinking this stuff isn't really the crazy part, it's the crying in the store part. Here, I'll give a better example: the other day in the shower I was thinking of murdering my husband. I decided against it, don't worry, but only partially because of the moral implications. Partially because you don't get life insurance from someone you murder. Shortly after that, I took a few days off of motherhood and AJ took a few days off work to cover for me. During that time, he started off with a bang by cleaning the kitchen thoroughly. My response? Anger. Because what is he trying to prove here? That jerk, only cleaning the kitchen when it's his job, even if assuming the job is a big fat favor to me.

I don't really know where I'm going with all of this. Everything is a little bit hazy. I pity my children for the year of their childhood with their mother that they lose every time I have another. But they seem to be enjoying the extra screen time. I think after this thing gets out of me they may all get very disappointed at how little tv they get to watch.

Oh, here we go! I hereby pledge to not do this again. I have officially reached Advanced Maternal Age, 4 is a pretty big number for some of us, and I am done. I know each pregnancy has been my last, but I'm serious this time. The end.