Ok, I have to start this by saying that I'm pretty sure that every single pregnant woman will at some point act--regarding both the highs and the lows--like she is the only woman in the history of human-kind to have ever, ever been pregnant. Let's admit, this process messes with you emotionally, not to mention making you feel like your body is a science project over which you have absolutely no control. In my opinion, this tendency in women helps identify the primary purpose of the husband during pregnancy: to nod supportively and sympathetically at whatever she says, and then to get up from the sofa in the middle of the movie, or out of bed at 1:30am, to go and retrieve the bottle of Tums.
Now, of course I understand that it's my very good fortune to even be able to be pregnant, especially five times--that there are plenty of women who really want to give birth and who are denied this opportunity. And I also understand that there are plenty out there who have completely miserable physical experiences while pregnant, and that in comparison my own pregnancies are about as uncomfortable as getting a brow wax (of which I'm currently very much in need of, actually). Nonetheless, with all this in mind, please indulge me--I want only to record my own experiences.
The stats are this: it's two days before the big, official due date (of which my scientifically-trained husband puts absolutely no stock in) and I still feel fantastic--too fantastic to think that this baby is actually coming anytime soon. But really, this whole pregnancy overall has been pretty amazing. In fact, I'm feeling so fantastic these days that this week I went out and mowed the lawn. Oh, yes, I did! Maybe it's a nesting impulse making me act like I can't possibly bring a new baby home to an unkempt lawn. Or maybe it was that suddenly mowing the lawn seemed a lot easier than the other to-do tasks, like weeding the large sections of undone landscaping that are waiting to be cleared and seeded, or mopping the kitchen floor. Whatever, my point is that only those who have actually seen the size and slope of my backyard will appreciate the full scale of my boasting. I know--thank you! Ok, don't worry, there's plenty of stuff that I've left undone over the last several months, and we've had several nights of scrambled eggs for dinner because I couldn't find the full energy for anything more. And, Adam would probably appreciate me pointing out that not once did I mow the lawn during the humid, sweaty summer. But, I did paint a shed! Otherwise, I spent a lot of time at the pool. (P.S., Adam would also appreciate me pointing out that he spent quite a few long days and nights laboriously building that shed first....but this isn't about him!)
Still, I mention the mowing specifically because I was listening to some music while out working when CCR's "Bad Moon Rising" comes on, and if you have ever really listened to the lyrics, you too will swear that John Fogerty must have written that song while he was nine months pregnant and completely dreading labor and delivery. Because, guess what: it hurts like the devil. While with the last three deliveries I signed up for the whole midwife-birth center-Earth-loving-I-am-woman-empowering-I am-amazing experience of natural childbirth, I'm suddenly longing for the hospital/epidural experience that I had when delivering Max. Oh, the overwhelming nostalgia for the birthing experience where even though I had about seventeen different tubes and monitors attached to me and in every possible place on my body, Adam and I just waited around playing
Pass the Pigs and I was on enough extra narcotics that I drunkenly recounted episodes of
Dexter's Laboratory to my male delivery nurse and then asked him inappropriate questions about his feelings toward women generally after having to do things day-after-day like accompany a woman post-delivery to the toilet and squirt her down (which, by the way, was quite possibly the nicest thing that anyone has ever done for me).
So in order to convince myself that all this is worth it because besides getting a deliciously sweet baby at the end, there are enough inelegant, uncomfortable, and downright irritating parts of pregnancy that a dreaded delivery is a small price to pay in order to say goodbye to these particular maladies forever (since I'm 157% sure that this is baby numero finale....and, yes, I realize that apparently last time I was only 99.9999% sure).
So, my personal pregnancy winners are:
First: Compression Stockings (aka, "Support Hose")
I discovered with my second baby that I'm prone to getting varicose veins while pregnant. Now, lots of people think that is is about cosmetics, that I am wearing these beauties because I want to keep my legs looking fantastic and spider-vein free. Oh, not so. I dream of having only spider veins! No, real vein trouble is a deep throbbing, aching, and lasting leg fatigue. And with every pregnancy the pain has started earlier and earlier and the prescription-strength thickness of the stocking required has increased, while the aesthetic quality of the stocking has drastically decreased. And, lucky me, I found out this time around that when I don't wear them, not only do my legs really, really ache, but that anything below my ankles swells up like I've just exchanged feet for water balloons. Attractive! But I'm to the point where I really don't care what it looks like anymore and I've been wearing them all summer in full view. I'm probably scaring all of the cute little newly-somethings at church who dream that pregnancy is really nothing more than showing off your cute little baby bump in H&M's latest maternity line. Or else they think, "That would never be me." I probably did.
Second: Heart Burn
I should be grateful that having heart burn is something that doesn't really start come on until the last few months. Still, it's irritating as all get-out. And, why oh why, is it always the worst at night?! Actually, the ubiquitous Tums tablet is about the only thing I remember of my own mom being pregnant. So pleasant!
Next: Restroom Frequent-flyer
If there's one big I-want-my-body-back feeling, it's longing for the ability to wait more than 15 minutes between visiting the nearest bathroom, and with that feeling like all the accompanied urgency was worth it because more than two tablespoons comes out. And, while we're on the topic, it will sure be nice to sneeze or laugh or even take a few quick steps when having to stop a toddler from running off in the parking lot without being reminded that, say, the related opening isn't as tight as it should be.
Honorable Mention: Nighttime Insomnia
I've been really fortunate that this one has only crept up on me in the last few weeks. It means falling asleep with no trouble, just if there's any reason that I wake up (see above paragraph re: bladder), it's nigh impossible to get back to sleep. You might think that I'd get up and attempt to use the time productively or that I'd be actually doing all the assigned reading for Gospel Doctrine or something, but no, I don't. The only upside to this nighttime sleep loss is that now that the kids are back in school I've added an afternoon nap to my daily schedule, and those are always particularly delicious.
Finally: Oh, my Achy-Breaky Back
Someday I'll be able to sit again without it feeling like not only is the front of me so completely cramped that I have to arch my back like I'm attempting some kind of yoga for even slight relief, but that my lower back can handle sitting for more than 25 seconds without having to change positions. There isn't a pillow in the house that hasn't been tried for propping. And it's mean irony that I don't want to stand because my legs ache, but can hardly sit thanks to all the pulling on my back muscles. Is there such a massage where a fist-sized rock can be ground into my lower back for a good 45 minutes or so--because I want one. I should apologize to Adam's mom that we haven't come to visit her all summer, but I haven't been able to get over even the thought of sitting for a 2 1/2 hour car ride.
Ok, enough. And, remember, I had a disclaimer on all this complaining. Now I just can hope that the next post will be a picture of our new little guy, and that the feared bad moon rising will turn out to be just another result of a few too many disrupted, sleepless nights during which mole-hills are easily turned into mountains.
Wish me luck!
