At some point last week or the week before (they all run together nowadays), it occurred to me that pregnant women are the biggest liars in the world. At least if most are anything like I am, they are the biggest liars. Don't get me wrong, I've had a great pregnancy and would, (will) do it again without a second thought. But how many of us, pregnant or not, when asked, "How are you?" say, "Just fine," when really we aren't?
I say that pregnant women are especially the biggest liars because that seems to be a popular question that I get asked several times everyday. I know that this means that I see people who care about me everyday, and that's good, but I still lie to most of them.
"So how are you feeling?"
"I'm tired. I'm huge. There's this spot in my back that won't quit hurting. I have to pee all the time. I'm gassy. I have heartburn. Did I say I'm huge?"
That's what I want to say. But instead, I say, "I've felt great. Can't complain at all," simply because I feel like I can't complain. There are so many women who have had morning sickness and blood pressure problems, very preemie births and a multitude of other problems. So who am I to complain about all these little problems?
Still doesn't mean I didn't lie to them though.
I have used this response, and should probably use it more:
"How are you feeling?"
"Very pregnant."
That's not a lie. But it keeps me from complaining.
I suppose that I was inspired to put all of this down in words after this weekend. For posterity's sake, I had a stomach bug on Thanksgiving. I go 8 years without catching a stomach bug and then manage to get one when I'm 8 months pregnant on Thanksgiving Day nonetheless. This weekend was the first time that I truly wished I wasn't pregnant. Not so much because I felt bad, but because I was afraid that anything I was doing was hurting little Josiah. Not eating, not drinking much, then taking a Zantac for indigestion (the doc told me to), not eating "healthy" stuff, pushing myself to hard, and some other gory details that I'll spare you.
Yet, this somehow makes me a little proud. Somewhere in the first and second trimesters, I made the statement that I think I was the only pregnant-by-choice woman in the world who was scared of babies. But now I've started to feel that love that I'm convinced only God can make me feel for my unborn little baby boy. And this weekend was a bit of an emotional rollercoaster just letting the thought cross my mind that I might have hurt him, that I couldn't or didn't take care of him like I should have.
There's my confession I suppose. It makes me feel better anyway to get all of that out. There's so much more than I can say, but maybe I should just take a cue from one of my favorite movies, The Italian Job, and when someone asks how I'm doing I should say, "FINE." Freaked out, Insecure, Neurotic and Emotional. I've heard pregnancy will do that to you :)
Such Big Dreams for Such a Small Person
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
Monday, November 5, 2012
Where Else Would I Start?
But at the beginning.
This will be a mommy post, so if you were looking for crafty-ness, it won't be in here. So you can skip it if you like. I know I didn't like reading mommy posts of strangers when I wasn't going to be a mommy.
We decided that we wanted to start trying to have a family in December of 2011. My doctor told me that I could go off The Pill and start trying right away. She said that with me being young and healthy that I should get pregnant within 3 months. 3 months came and went, and those crazy female doubts started sinking in. Especially after 4 months. I had decided that if I wasn't pregnant the next month, I would go to the doctor to make sure everything was checking out OK. (We had deductible money, $3000 of it, put away in a flexible spending account and needed to spend it before the end of the year.) That "Magical Week" rolled around at the beginning of May. My tummy had been feeling funny, but that wasn't unsual. What was unusual was that the "Magical Week" hadn't started yet. So on Thurs, May 3, I peed on the stick, and got two lines! We decided not to tell anyone until Father's Day, after our first Dr's appointment.
I had been feeling fine. Great really. But I have a long family history of sick pregnant women in my family. Like so sick that several had IV shunts in place just to get fluids. I was prepared to be sick. But I hadn't been. Until Sunday, May 7. We had our Middle Schoolers at the house that night. And had Little Caesar's pizza for supper. I was in the bathroom most of the night. No barfing, but the other end. I thought I had just had too much greasy pizza. I called my employer (Daddy) to tell him that I had an upset stomach and I probably wouldn't be in to work that day. What was worse, Hubs left that morning for a week long trip to Suriname, South America for his job. But I started feeling better during the day, and continued to blame it on the pizza. Until Monday night, which I also spent most of in the bathroom.
I was sleep deprived, sick, and knew I couln't go into work like I was. But I was still torn on trying to keep the pregnancy a secret. But I was also afraid that I would get dehydrated, or so sick that I couldn't even get myself to a hospital if needed. So I still got dressed for work and went. I told Daddy that I thought I had a stomach bug and I was going to go to his house where Mama was. When I got to Mama and Daddy's house, I had to tell Mama. It wasn't the most creative way, sick-looking at 9 AM. But it worked. I think she suspected it anyway. I told my brother, Sam that morning too. He came down the stairs in nothing but his boxers. When I told him, his reaction was, "Ahh! My sister's knocked up!" which is the truth. I waited to tell Daddy until he got home that evening. He asked if I thought I had a stomach bug. I told him no. He asked, "Well what do you think it is?" I said, "I think you're going to be a grandpa." The look on his face was priceless. He did a double take. Then I think he may have danced around the room a little. But this was the hardest part. They couldn't tell ANYONE until Saturday when Dave got home. I couldn't let Dave's parents hear through the grapevine that they were going to be grandparents again. And Daddy wanted to tell EVERYONE. But the secret stayed safe, and after Saturday, Daddy told anyone he wanted.
The rest of the week, I stayed at Mama and Daddy's house. Because it sucks to be sick and alone. I spent most of Tuesday that week feeling nauseous. I thought for sure that I would barf that night, and kind of wished I could at one point. And most of Wednesday too. But my OB reccommended taking Unisom and vit. B6, and it worked wonders for me. Every 8 hours for about 2 weeks. Then I decided to see if I could live without it. And I could. I had a few food aversions, and developed a couple of smell aversions, but I had more "evening sickness" than morning sickness. By the time I got home from work everyday, I just wanted to veg out on the couch and eat a peanut butter sandwich. But I still never barfed. To this day, I haven't barfed during pregnancy. (So Blessed!)
We finally told Dave's parents on Saturday, and thanks to a husband who wanted me to tell them, but failed to let me know that, there was a, "You tell them," "No, you tell them," moment. So I think his parents knew before it finally left our mouths. I think they suspected it anyway too, because I'm never sick.
And that was the most eventful thing that happened in the first trimester. We went to our first appointment, saw the heart beat, got pictures of the most adorable little blob I had ever seen, and eventually agreed upon the name "Dumplin'" for until we found out the sex. I just have a problem calling a baby "it" or "the baby" all the time. He needed a proper name.
Stay tuned! More stories to follow on the blame game and kicking!
This will be a mommy post, so if you were looking for crafty-ness, it won't be in here. So you can skip it if you like. I know I didn't like reading mommy posts of strangers when I wasn't going to be a mommy.
We decided that we wanted to start trying to have a family in December of 2011. My doctor told me that I could go off The Pill and start trying right away. She said that with me being young and healthy that I should get pregnant within 3 months. 3 months came and went, and those crazy female doubts started sinking in. Especially after 4 months. I had decided that if I wasn't pregnant the next month, I would go to the doctor to make sure everything was checking out OK. (We had deductible money, $3000 of it, put away in a flexible spending account and needed to spend it before the end of the year.) That "Magical Week" rolled around at the beginning of May. My tummy had been feeling funny, but that wasn't unsual. What was unusual was that the "Magical Week" hadn't started yet. So on Thurs, May 3, I peed on the stick, and got two lines! We decided not to tell anyone until Father's Day, after our first Dr's appointment.
I had been feeling fine. Great really. But I have a long family history of sick pregnant women in my family. Like so sick that several had IV shunts in place just to get fluids. I was prepared to be sick. But I hadn't been. Until Sunday, May 7. We had our Middle Schoolers at the house that night. And had Little Caesar's pizza for supper. I was in the bathroom most of the night. No barfing, but the other end. I thought I had just had too much greasy pizza. I called my employer (Daddy) to tell him that I had an upset stomach and I probably wouldn't be in to work that day. What was worse, Hubs left that morning for a week long trip to Suriname, South America for his job. But I started feeling better during the day, and continued to blame it on the pizza. Until Monday night, which I also spent most of in the bathroom.
I was sleep deprived, sick, and knew I couln't go into work like I was. But I was still torn on trying to keep the pregnancy a secret. But I was also afraid that I would get dehydrated, or so sick that I couldn't even get myself to a hospital if needed. So I still got dressed for work and went. I told Daddy that I thought I had a stomach bug and I was going to go to his house where Mama was. When I got to Mama and Daddy's house, I had to tell Mama. It wasn't the most creative way, sick-looking at 9 AM. But it worked. I think she suspected it anyway. I told my brother, Sam that morning too. He came down the stairs in nothing but his boxers. When I told him, his reaction was, "Ahh! My sister's knocked up!" which is the truth. I waited to tell Daddy until he got home that evening. He asked if I thought I had a stomach bug. I told him no. He asked, "Well what do you think it is?" I said, "I think you're going to be a grandpa." The look on his face was priceless. He did a double take. Then I think he may have danced around the room a little. But this was the hardest part. They couldn't tell ANYONE until Saturday when Dave got home. I couldn't let Dave's parents hear through the grapevine that they were going to be grandparents again. And Daddy wanted to tell EVERYONE. But the secret stayed safe, and after Saturday, Daddy told anyone he wanted.
The rest of the week, I stayed at Mama and Daddy's house. Because it sucks to be sick and alone. I spent most of Tuesday that week feeling nauseous. I thought for sure that I would barf that night, and kind of wished I could at one point. And most of Wednesday too. But my OB reccommended taking Unisom and vit. B6, and it worked wonders for me. Every 8 hours for about 2 weeks. Then I decided to see if I could live without it. And I could. I had a few food aversions, and developed a couple of smell aversions, but I had more "evening sickness" than morning sickness. By the time I got home from work everyday, I just wanted to veg out on the couch and eat a peanut butter sandwich. But I still never barfed. To this day, I haven't barfed during pregnancy. (So Blessed!)
We finally told Dave's parents on Saturday, and thanks to a husband who wanted me to tell them, but failed to let me know that, there was a, "You tell them," "No, you tell them," moment. So I think his parents knew before it finally left our mouths. I think they suspected it anyway too, because I'm never sick.
And that was the most eventful thing that happened in the first trimester. We went to our first appointment, saw the heart beat, got pictures of the most adorable little blob I had ever seen, and eventually agreed upon the name "Dumplin'" for until we found out the sex. I just have a problem calling a baby "it" or "the baby" all the time. He needed a proper name.
Stay tuned! More stories to follow on the blame game and kicking!
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