I would like to open this edition of preggo bitching with an apology. To every pregnant woman to whom I have ever used the phrase, "Honey, you're not fat, you're pregnant!" I offer my sincere apologies. While I completely meant it when it was said, I now see your point. Because while, yes, I am pregnant, I am also fat(ter). Abdomen gain? Mostly baby. Boob gain? Toss up. But thigh gain? Ass? Arms? Fat. Fat. Faaaat.
And please don't start in with me here about how they are all interconnected. Blah, blah, blah. I'm pregnant and I'm fat. Yes, there is no escaping it, but that doesn't make it untrue. I'm still not big enough to be obvious, so I know people often assume I'm just getting pudgy. You're welcome to ignore me when I bitch that I'm fat. And you are even more welcome to tell me I look great. But only if you mean it.
This is my trick. I wear stripes because it actually makes me look pregnant, even though we all know they do nothing flattering for the figure. Hence why it's best to ignore me when I say I look fat. This is preggo logic, people.
I am so over old wives tales and half-facts. Oh, you've heard I shouldn't get massages? Can't have my hair done? Should get rid of my cats? I have one thing to say: I am the research queen, damnit, so if you've heard this "fact," I guarantee I have also heard it. If I'm doing it anyway, it means I have considered it, debunked it (or determined what about it is unsafe/should be avoided), and moved on. Also, it is none of your effing business, especially when we don't know each other. But thanks for looking out. Really. XO.
Oh, and old wives tales go the other way, too, btw. Cocoa butter, shea, etc. etc. don't help stretch marks. You get them or you don't. It's a medical, genetic-based fact. That's not to say I'm not rubbing it on every morning anyway (I'm dry, ok?), but it's still just a story. Just like me having acne doesn't make it a girl. Even though everyone other than my grocery store checker has decided that it does.
Speaking of, no, we are not finding out the sex. No, I don't care what it is. I really, honestly don't. I promise. And I find it a little disturbing that you think I should be hoping for one over the other. Talk about your kid entering the world with a 50% chance of already disappointing you. They have their whole lives to do that.
I am crazy jealous of my cats. Not only do they just get to lounge around all day, they get to be comfortable while doing it. (Especially Ramona. She's got this on lock.)
See, I am a back sleeper. When that fails, I'm a stomach sleeper. Seeing that I can't do either anymore basically means sleeping is no longer fun. Well, I can lay on my stomach, but if you've ever tried to lie on a soccer ball, you know why this isn't happening. Back sleeping is out per doc's orders. Something about the weight of my engorged uterus and cutting off circulation to myself and the baby...I wasn't really listening; I was busy catching up on sleep with my eyes open. I have more and more in common with my Greta everyday.
Seriously, she sat like this without moving for like 5 minutes. She is amazing. And now I am done with my cats for this edition.
So I'm stuck on my sides. Which I hate. My shoulders fall asleep more easily than I do, and pregnancy hip pain has commenced in full effect, so my body pillow and I (see below) spend a lot of time flipping during the night. And when I'm not super gracefully using my entire body weight to attempt to turn over in one swift action, (side note: SO glad we sprung for the King bed last year. And that he can sleep through anything.) I'm getting up to pee. Every. Two. Hours. My under-eye circles have never looked so good, let me tell you.
In awesome news, however, my knees no longer hurt. I can sit on the toilet without whimpering again! (Yay!) I can do lunges again! (Yay? And also, "again?")
What is with the blood coming out of my nose? I'm not 8, and I don't play soccer. That's who gets nosebleeds, right? I feel like every nosebleed depicted on tv is an 8 year old in cleats. And I never played, which I'm certain is why I never have had one. Anyway, blood streaming out of nose at 6:30am is strange enough. Explaining to my husband that it's perfectly normal is even stranger.
And now, a few words of advice:
Rethink the Brazilian wax. The first few preg-waxes (ew, that's a terrible word) weren't bad—no worse than usual, which I normally handle like a champ. I'd been warned that it would be more painful "during this special time," so I'd left the salon all high and mighty. Hurt?? Ha! Not me! Best pregnancy ever! And then 19 weeks hit, and oh. my. god. I was squealing wincing so much my waxer (of two years) actually giggled at me. And then told me I was crazy, confessing that she never had the guts to do it while she was pregnant. NOW she tells me...
You know that show you love that makes you cry? Stop watching it. Mine happens to be Grey's Anatomy-I'm currently trying to catch up on last season, so I've been watching several at a time on Netflix. Hubby doesn't understand why "that stupid show is even still on," which meant he was more than happy to oblige when I told him to put me on Grey's restriction. (Of course, he came home the next night to find me crying into the couch pillow again.) Seriously, though. The baby needs fluids. Sobbing inconsolably about how Mandy Moore diiiiiiiieeed just means you're tempting dehydration.
Buy the body pillow. And get a cute cover for it, while you're at it. It's going to be your best (and most intimate, it works best all tucked in between your legs) friend for months, so you may as well treat it as such. I haven't caved and sprung for an expensive one yet—I'm thinking the Snoogle—but I feel the time is fast approaching. These hips are seriously hurting.
No joke—it's enormous, and a little like having a threesome every night. (I guess?) I feel like I should name it, or at least buy it breakfast in the morning.
What about you all? Any nighttime pregnancy remedies/pillow brands, etc. you want to throw my way? My sanity thanks you in advance.
~ Pam Huber of Seriously Yum