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  • Oh, Shush!

    Maybe it's because my face seems to be getting fatter, or because I have an unconfirmed suspicion that I've gained four or more pounds in the last week - a suspicion that I do not plan to confirm by getting on a scale - but, recently, all of the little things people say to pregnant women are driving me ever closer to rage.  Oftentimes, these comments come while I'm walking down the hallway at work.  Luckily, I've been able to duck in to the kitchen or bathroom and avoid any physical altercations.  I'm worried, though, about what might happen if a commenter nabs me in a wide open space, without available detours.   

    Here are a few recent highlights:

     

    "You just keep on getting bigger and bigger!"  Ummm, yes, thank you.  That's how pregnancy works.  The baby grows; the person carrying the baby inside of her grows.  I know this comment doesn't seem that bad but, to a hormonal pregnant woman who just ate 3/4 of a burrito the size of her head, these are fighting words.  Lucky for the commenter, I had already thrown away the rest of the burrito, and so I was not able to throw it at her head, as I wanted to.

     

    "You've got that waddle going on."  Imagine this said while laughing and doing an exaggerated, wide, lumbering step.  Hilarious, I tell you.  Maybe, in three months, when I'm no longer pregnant and apparently waddling, I, too, will see the humor in this.  Now, I'm too achy to find much of anything about my body funny.  I just feel thankful that I'm still able to drag one foot in front of the other. 

     

    "You look like you're about to burst.  You must be due in, what, a week or two?"  Note that a doctor said this.  Not an OB-GYN or my doctor, but a person I know who happens to be a doctor.  I've got about five and a half weeks to go.  I'm measuring right on target for my due date.  I can't even imagine what people, apparently including medical professionals, would say about my size if I were carrying twins, or past my due date.   

     

    These were all made in the past week, and don't include comments made about drinking coffee (actually, it was hot chocolate from a coffee place), working out, eating spicy food, how much weight I've gained or should gain, and on and on.  Perhaps this means I have reached a time in my pregnancy when I should either stay inside, or wear a sign that says, "I'm cranky and I don't want to hear it."  I don't comment on people's bodies or walks; I avoid walking up to people and saying, "Wow, you're HUGE."  It just seems a tad rude, and it doesn't suddenly become okay just because someone is with child. 

     

    I've had fantasies in which I had great comebacks - like, "Well, at least I'll be smaller in a few months."  Or, "And how much weight have you gained in the last nine months?  Looks like you're trying to keep up with me."   "That's funny - you don't look like you have a uterus.  Did your doctor tell you not to drink coffee while you were pregnant?  And when was that, Mr. Smith?"  Yeah, those aren't so clever.  Clearly I have some weaknesses in the snappy comeback department.  But even if I could think of fabulous verbal smackdowns, even with raging hormones I can't quite bring myself to say any of these things, except to my husband.  Sean knows enough to stick to telling me I look good, but he still has to put up with my can-you-believe-this-guy rants. 

     

    This leads me to the most important rule for dealing with pregnant women, one that I'm not sure I always followed as well as I could have before this point: tell them they look beautiful, or keep your mouth shut. 

     

    If you just can't lie and tell me that pregnancy becomes me (as one slightly drunk friend said), or that I look great (as our remodeler says every time he sees me, with lots of enthusiasm), then don't say anything at all.  Nobody wants to hear it.  I can make fun of my own walrus-like shape, or make jokes about the amount of times I burp in a day, but I don't need them from anyone else.  Hopefully, I'll become a little more tolerant, patient, and less prickly once my back stops hurting and I can breathe fully and eat a whole meal in one sitting.  But, for now, I'd like the chatty folks to know that keeping their mouths shut might save them from having a partially-eaten burrito thrown at their heads. 

     

     


  • Nine Things I Hate About Pregnancy

    Today, I've been in a pregnancy funk.  Sure, there are good things about being pregnant - nurturing a new human being and how much nicer people seem to be, to name a few.  Later I'll focus on the bright side.  For now, I'm focusing on the negative, and so, I give you the top nine things I (currently) hate about being pregnant:

     

    1.  My body is no longer my own.  It's still mine - at least half mine - but it's going through all of these crazy changes that are completley out of my control.  My nose is churning out three times the snot it did before, I've got ripping pains in my lower stomach, and I feel like a bloated pig. 

     

     

    2.  My boobs seem to be vying for their own solar system.  Since they weren't exactly small to begin with, especially considering that I'm a pretty short kid, I'm not one of those girls who is delighted to finally have cleavage.  Why must they grow now, months before the milk comes?  I've got to do the double sports bra trick whenever I run, which leads me to number three:

     

    3.  I can't run nearly as far or as fast as I could before (which wasn't really all that fast).  My chest hurts, it's harder to breathe, and it's just generally annoying to have to slow down and pace myself.  I did still run a 10k a few weeks back, and I've kept up short run/walks most mornings, but it's not the same.

     

    4.  I've gained 13 pounds.  Please don't tell me how much weight you gained, or your sister gained, or your best friend gained, while pregnant - it will only make me freak out even more about how much weight I have left to gain.  It's stupid and very non-empowered of me to have issues with gaining 13 pounds, and I know it's all within healthy limits and that it's for the good of the baby, but I still hate it.  I think, the next time I'm in for a check up, I'm going to ask the nurse just to tell me whether or not my weight gain is OK, rather than the amoung I've gained, to diminish the chance that I'll dwell on this even more. 

     

    5.  The list of foods I can't eat and things I can't drink - lox, sashimi, raw cookie dough, wine... 

     

    6.  Nausea and vomiting of early pregnancy - or, in my case, early and mid pregnancy.  I still haven't fully kicked that beast. 

     

    7.  The general air of condescencion some people seem to have toward pregnant women.  I may be carrying a baby, but I'm not a baby.  There's no need for baby talk, cooing over how cute I am, or helping me with simple tasks (like lifting a small stack of books).  It probably comes from a nice desire to care for women who may be in a more vulnerable state, but it still makes me want to punch someone in the nose, and I'm trying to avoid doing anything that might lead to assault charges.  Though that would make a great story to tell Junior later...

     

    8.  Changing from my favorite sleeping position - lying on my stomach - to my least favorite - lying on my side. 

     

    9.  And, finally: I'm only a little more than halfway through, and many of the above things, which are now on the level of minor annoyances, will get worse, and I will probably look back on this list and think how good I had it at 21 weeks. 

     

    I'm just having one of those days where everything my husband can do - gorge on sushi, drink, run for miles on end, keep his stomach flat, not take multiple trips to the bathroom in the middle of the night - reminds me of all of the things I can't do.  I know these things are all temporary and I can do one huge thing he can't: carry a child.  Next time, I'll focus on the positives of pregnancy. 

     

    On a separate note, I wanted to thank all of you Babblers for your incredibly helpful advice about baby names and baby stuff.  I now feel prepared to tip toe back in to the store and create a baby registry.  You're all fabulous!



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About the Blogger

Oz Spies

Oz Spies in Denver

Oz Spies lives in Denver, Colorado with her husband, a firefighter; their son, Axel; and a slightly obese dog and cat. She has a MFA in Creative Writing from Colorado State University.

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