Last Few Weeks of Pregnancy...Please Knock Me Out

When I started this blog, I named it “Sunshine and Vinegar” for a reason.  It was because of how I see life, and how life has been for me. I am a total romantic in personality, (an INFP if you know the Myer’s Brigg’s) and I tend to see the world through rose-colored glasses.  Life is so beautiful; it is such a gift.  For me, to live is to see the beauty of what is and of what could be.

That’s the sunshine part.

The reality is that a LOT of tragedy and dysfunction has happened in my life. I’ve never been much of a realist though – it’s both a personal weakness and a strength.  The upside of not being a realist is that I’ve remained full of hope in the worst of times, but the downside is that sometimes I can expect too much and then be unable to move on when I need to.

What I’ve been through in life, and just the general sorrow that life has been doled out to so many close ones around me…. death, drugs, chronic illness, mental illness, etc.  – that’s the vinegar part. It affects me daily in ways I really try not to focus too much on.

If this blog were to accurately reflect my life, I couldn’t pretend it’s all rosy all of the time.  But also I don’t want this blog to be just a place I can complain at.  Real life isn’t one without the other anyway.  So Sunshine and Vinegar it is!

Case in point:  pregnancy has made my life hell lately, and I need to talk about it.  So let’s do this. I will now complain. Here is some vinegar for you. Don’t worry, nothing too serious for this post. But can I just vent about how I physically feel for a sec?

So I’ve pretty much hit my “done” point of pregnancy.  It’s all the usual stuff.  I can barely walk anymore because of sciatic pain or abdominal cramping. And the skin on my stomach feels like it’s going to split open each evening.  I’m a bit past 36 weeks and suuuuper bloated. There is forever a river of fire that defies gravity by constantly running up my esophagus. Thank you, relaxin. And to my giant bottle of Tums -  I hate you. There’s nothing on your stupid bottle that says when one is far enough along in pregnancy, tums become totally ineffective.

Don’t go away - there’s more. Veins are popping out of my left leg and it hurts. I can’t sleep because my bulbous body is so freaking uncomfortable. I can't feel my hands for 5 minutes when I wake up.  I’m done being physically active but do I get to be done? Do I? No because it’s my fourth kid, and the rest are all under six. So, I keep having to bend down and pick stuff up, help little people, ref fights, and sprint - yes - SPRINT after them daily. My poor body. Tell me one of them will take care of me when I'm old and it is failing.

Except this one day in Target last week, when dammit, I took a stand for this worn-down body. I dropped a can in an aisle.  There was only one other person around me. A woman in her 40’s who I had glanced briefly. I looked at the dropped can and set my jaw, then kicked it to the side of the isle. Then our eyes met. Thankfully she just laughed and didn’t judge me. “Sorry,” I said “I’ve… I’ve quit”. She was sweet and picked it up for me, saying she has been there.

Also, my OB has me bummed. “Wow that’s a small baby.” She exclaimed while feeling my tummy. 

“Why. Why is she small?” it was almost more of a demand. “I’ve gained ALL the weight. My ass isn’t small. Why is she small? Why is everything I eat going to my ass? I’m spose to be growing a baby not a second caboose.” But that is in fact what I’m actually growing, a second ass. On this point, I am a realist. Because none of my pants fit.

These days, my total misery is embarrassingly obvious to the public. Example: after said OB appointment last week, I still hadn't woken up for the day (coffee stopped working 2 weeks ago) despite one of the boys accidentally hitting me the head with something while they were fighting in the car. Always fighting. Always. I zombied over to a drive-through coffee shop for something I never order: double espresso. I sat awaiting this drink, kids fighting, with my stomach skin feeling like it would split down the middle with what FEELS TO ME like an enormous baby (I swear she's wrong). The barista said "I gave you half off" with a look of pity, handed me a new drink card after clicking off like 4 drinks from it. "It looks like a rough day." 

I do not remember being this miserable in my first couple pregnancies. Is this a fourth baby thing? Luckily, I have the best husband in the world. He knows I’m crabby, he sees my limping, asks how I’m feeling, and has even let me steal his pillow before.  Just a few more weeks of this hell! Aaaaaand that’s all the positivity I can muster today. 😊