Friday, October 3, 2014

Dear Baby: You're Kicking My Butt

This post was written on May 2nd, 2014.

Dear Baby,

Please know that these are not complaints. I am probably the happiest pregnant lady on the planet. Anytime I experience any of these symptoms, I smile for a moment because it just means that I am finally pregnant.

I am listing these for you so that you know that your mother loved you so early on and had already dealt with a lot way before you even tore up her crotch. At this very moment I'm hoping that you are a girl, just so that you aren't completely traumatized by the thought of your mother's crotch, but that's a totally different issue.

  • I am starving all the time, but only seem to enjoy chicken in battered and fried form. Anything else is repulsive.
  • I take it back. I can eat Taco Bell chalupas and bowls of Pho every day if your Dad would let me. Your poor father sometimes spends so much time grilling meat for us and I can't even force down a bite.
  • I have to pee every two hours, minimum. Sometimes I barely make it to the bathroom and only have to pee a little bit. How is this possible, Baby? I'm scared for my third trimester.
  • I can smell everything. This is a terrible thing when a patient has an especially bad body odor and I'm trapped in a room with them for an hour with the door closed.
  • Chest acne. This is a real thing. 
  • When it gets really cold, my boobs hurt so badly that I can barely function. It was a long winter, Baby.
  • Walking around the neighborhood or up the stairs feels like a six-mile hike in the woods.
  • My permanent bedtime is 9pm. This is also due to the amount of times I have to pee in the middle of night. It's totally ruining my sleep cycle.
  • The bloat. Oh, the bloat! And the gas! At the end of the night, I look at least seven months pregnant, even though I'm barely two months. 
  • Random spouts of nausea. I'm fortunate enough to not have thrown up yet, but when I'm driving to work in the mornings I sometimes have to stuff saltine crackers down my throat from my emergency car stash. I think if I do get sick enough to throw up one day, I may not make it to a trash can or toilet. I sometimes think about what kind of conversation I would have with my boss if I threw up on myself and was late to work.
Ah, the joys of growing you in my tummy. Seriously, though. All of this is worth it if it means you get to be a part of our lives.

Luv,
Mom

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