That which they do not tell you.

I was just saying to my mom that if it weren't for the whole kicking thing, the uncomfortable contractions, and the sore uterus - I wouldn't know I was pregnant. This is true to a large extent. If I don't look down, I do sometimes forget that I've got a very active bun in the oven.

On the other hand, there's some freaky shit going on that NO ONE told me would happen and therefore I wonder whether it's pregnancy related, or I'm just getting quirkier.

Firstly, my feet are itchy. Mainly my toes. There is no rash, no scaly-ness, and no redness. There's probably some swelling, but I'm really really bad at telling whether or not my feet are swollen. I'm grateful that they haven't grown in size - Apparently my mom, pre-pregnancy, was a size 7 in shoes, and post-pregnancy and forever after amen has been a size 8. Even though I don't WEAR stilettos anymore, I would rather not be faced with the harsh reality that my silver sequin heels wouldn't fit me anymore.

So, back to the itchiness. They itch mildly all day, but then at night - I lay down in bed and am suddenly consumed by the itchiness of it all. Greg is amused by all of this, and calmly offers to scritch said toes until I am mostly calmed. This takes a long while. We've also tried moisturizer - My toes are soft and supple AND ITCHY AS ALL GET OUT.

Pregnancy? Or Quirk?


Also, (and at first this was delightful) Water now tastes like cream. Ice tastes like cold cubes of icing. You'd think I'd forgo complaining about this one, but at the height of summer when what you really want is a swig of ice cold water - Ice cold CREAM is not nearly as thirst-quenching or refreshing. At first I thought it must just be OUR water. It must just be our Brita Filter or something... And then I tried water at a friend's house... and an expensive restaurant... and a Denny's... And water is no longer water. Water is like melted ice cream. It's awful. I so desperately just want ice water. Is that so much to ask?

Pregnancy? or Quirk?

And you guys - Let me let you in on something I learned in our last baby class. Babies REALLY DO come out of vaginas. I mean - I know you've probably all been informed of this, and if you've given birth, you probably feel even more well-informed on the subject. But I think it bears repeating: BABIES ENTER THIS WORLD THROUGH THE VAGINA. I swear I knew this basic information before, but watching umpteen women give birth in the educational videos during our last childbirth class -- They're serious. It really does happen that way.

I'm sure I'll be even more viscerally informed after my own birthing experience. I just thought I'd share. Birth Control is effective. If you don't want to shove a baby through your vagina, use it.

The people I've shared this eyes-the-size-of-saucers-inducing revelation with, along with the acknowledgment that I'm not particularly excited, intrigued, mystified, or READY to give BIRTH - even though I'm (as) ready (as I'll ever be) to take on an infant and just about looking forward to it.... They tend to get all snippy with me. "Well, If you weren't ready to give birth, then why did you want to get pregnant!?!" As though I should be excitedly anticipating the hemorrhoids, the tearing, and the incredibly difficult work that is child birth.

I guess this is the beginning of the mommy-judgment. I'm already less-worthy because I don't have the proper feelings of awe and excitement for the birth-giving. I can only imagine how I'll be judged when I actually admit out loud that I have feelings other than all-encompassing fuzzy love for my little dumplings. But seriously, I expect to be pooped on, and I expect not to like it. That's just reality, right?

I mitigate my fear and anxiety through education. I took classes. I read books. I'm practicing breathing and rolling my hips on a big pink exercise ball. I breathe through my braxton hicks contractions when I can remember to do anything other than say "Ow ow ow ow ow". I've hired a doula (We met with her for two hours, she's lovely). I've decided I want to keep all my options as open as possible, but I want to try everything I can before I decide to go with an epidural. And I've been cluing Greg into everything that could potentially piss me off whilst laboring - i.e. denying me food or cheering me on with the pep of a high school cheerleader. Either of those opens up the very real possibility of me biting off one of his fingers, and neither of us wants that.
So I'm working on it, but I'm not psyched. I'm nervous.

Also, I'm becoming moody and territorial. The nursery is in the midst of the VERY LAST paint touch ups, and then everything can be put in its place. All the baby clothes are laundered and waiting. I've been imagining stacking them in size order and carefully placing them, one by one, in the dresser drawers while imagining my little squirmy boy wearing them for the first time.

Then Greg made the near fatal mistake of "trying to help" by taking the clean laundry basket of baby clothes and dumping it into the nursery room dresser to get it out of our bedroom.

He simultaneously de-virginized the dresser and the clothes in one fell, clumsy, swoop.

At the cold, calm core of my intellectual self, I am able to understand that this should mean nothing. I am still completely capable of organizing, touching, arranging, and daydreaming during the task of "putting away the baby's clothes".

But I would be lying if I told you it didn't pain me to even type those words. I am/was furious. I'm still having trouble letting it go. My plans were violated and thus the world comes to a crashing inferno of an end. I experienced a conniption during which my head split, I shed my skin fully, and my eye sockets burned with a blue eternal flame.

Pregnancy? Or quirk?
Let's hope, for Greg's health's sake, it's just pregnancy.