SitDownStupid

Your husband’s scotch breath is probably THE most foul smell—Ever. You surrender to your wacked digestive system: gas, diarrhea-constipation combo, peeing 3 times a night, bloating, and the all time favorite: pregnancy heartburn- not-from-what-you-eat-but-just-because-you-exist. Having to sit up, adjust the boppy pillow,  just to roll over onto your other side. Every. Time. You. Roll. Over. All. Night. Long. You dream of an egg salad sandwich- and when you make a batch it never even hits the bread because you have inhaled the entire bowl as dip for the bag of lays potato chips (yes, the super salty kind) hovering over it still on the counter in the kitchen.  Imagine a rabid dog eating a steak. When you can no longer tie your own shoes and you know your husband is enjoying the task a little too much. The day you discovered they make cotton maternity bike shorts (to wear under dresses so your thighs don’t stick and rub together) has topped the day you discovered spanx for the first time. Your shoes no longer fit your puffy feet, and your wedding ring is moved to the pinky finger… and shopping for shoes may not make you feel any better but the replacement sparkly ring will (just don’t call it a “push present”, even though we all know that is what it is- hubs doesn’t like that term.) “Oh my god!!! you are SO big!  Are you sure there are not twins in there?!” are comments that bring out the best of your humanity.  Deep breath.  Count to ten.  Plot imaginary death. You go to the movies because you have to have buttery popcorn but the smell of making it at home makes you nauseous. Deciphering an ancient Mayan code rewritten by aliens is probably an easier task than creating a baby registry that pleases  both your parents and in-laws. You get winded walking up a flight of stairs.  (Remember when working out made you feel good?) You look down and your expanding bobble of a belly and the reality hits you: HOW IN THE HELL IS THAT GOING TO EXIT MY BODY?!      

My husband recently went on a rant about the phrase “just wait til you have kids…” in response to anything and everything FUN in our lives. As newlyweds we have had this little phrase thrown in our faces every time we mention, well, anything— going to the movies, going out to dinner, getting a couple’s massage, staying up all night with our sick dog— apparently we can’t mention existing to someone who has children. As we announce our pregnancy we get mixed joyous congratulations and warnings of impending doom. REALLY. Isn’t it a bit audacious to refer to parenthood as the doomsday club? Am I really naive to believe that the miracle of life growing inside me is a gift, not a one way ticket to lameville? Perhaps it is because I spent most of my 20’s running around Manhattan like an asshole and have absolutely no regrets or feel like I left the party too soon. I enjoy spending my weekends at home with the pup in my lap and making witty quips to my husband while mocking TV. We already are the golden couple of lameville. And we are pretty intelligent people. We get it- screeching baby 4 am feedings, teething, tantrums, projectile vomiting, diapers- the messes, the chaos— that is the point: it is no longer about us! As I adjust to giving up coffee and wine and those sneaky cigarettes— it wasn’t nearly as hard as I thought it was going to be because I have already accepted a simple truth: it is no longer about me! I don’t need to hear from you naysayers that being a parent is hard. LIFE is hard. I refuse to have my optimism jaded— I have heard the rumor that this is life changing, no kidding. Just as I don’t expect to have all the answers or a plan for everything. As a nursing student, they don’t teach us everything that goes RIGHT. I have learned everything that can possibly go WRONG in life, from the moment of conception—> delivery—> to all the ways you can meet your maker. I can sit here and become paralyzed with fear, or I can put on my rosy colored glasses and be grateful for this little mystery called life. So, I solemnly vow to singletons everywhere that I will not poo poo on your good times with the phrase “just wait til you get married” nor will I ever use the phrase “just wait til you have kids” as warnings to the end of FUN. To me, it is just the beginning.

Things smell weird and funky and apple juice has become the most delicious nectar from the gods. Odd auras come over me out of no where and suddenly I feel like I’m high, a moment of euphoria… no, just have gas. I consider myself lucky that I haven’t had any nausea or vomiting, but no one warns you of ridiculous diarrhea— it just… happens. They do warn you of “fatigue” but no one puts it into perspective, so allow me. You are going about your day, with the minor twangs (not really cramps) just little reminders of the impending parenthood, and them, BLAMMO- you get nailed with a tranquilizer dart. You are helpless to the power of the exhaustion. The first time it came over me I was driving and about an hour from home and actually started bargaining that maybe I could rest my eyes, just for a second. I even considered pulling over and taking a nap on the side of the highway. In the moment, the rationale seems perfectly flawless. Out holiday shopping, BLAMMO!— maybe I can find a dressing room with a bench…

I am 33 years young and this is my first time blogging. I have limited my online indulgence to facebook, but for the first time in my life I finally feel like I have something to say: I’m Pregnant! And since I can’t safely announce that to the world until I reach 12 weeks I am just beside myself with elation and, naturally, fear. This would be a good time to mention that I recently have returned to school for a second degree and am studying Nursing, in an accelerated bachelor program, which only means that daily I am subjected to my own stupidity at an alarming rate. My first career was in the arts and I was comfortable and at home in that world. But, something was missing, and it took me a few years to figure out what it was. And I found myself wanting to DO something with my life that brought me some sense of gratification. I tried teaching, but that didn’t quite fill the void. Some say it is a calling, and perhaps it is as simple as being a person who needs to be needed, but nursing has opened a new world for me. I’m a novice in this world, and I don’t speak the language, and everything has 3 letter abbreviations and half the time I don’t know if it is a medical procedure, a disease, or a goddamn piece of equipment.  To say this new adventure of mine has humbled me would be an understatement. I do love it- bodily fluids and foul odors and all!  But most of the time being a student where an entire semester is squeezed into 6 weeks and I’m up at 4:30 and in the hospital on different clinical rotations until 2 and then in class until 9, this accelerated track feels like the fast lane to being a bumbling idiot. So, naturally, with my self esteem at an ultimate low, the one thing I was able to do right ON THE FIRST TRY— getting pregnant! (My husband is taking all the credit for this of course with his talk of champion sperm.) And all I can think is— REALLY?! Me?! A MOMMY?! Holy Sh**!