Disclaimer: I am going to complain about my body falling apart. You will listen like this is important and you are genuinely concerned. Okay? Okay. Good.
Being pregnant this time around sucks. Let me clarify. Being pregnant this time around sucks worse than last time. I don't know why this is a surprise to me. I hated it last time. I know this. But this time... Wow, I hurt. Damn am I tired.
Oliver's kicking never really hurt me. It weirded me out and it felt gross but it never was truly painful. Sure, he might've kicked my bladder and made me pee a few times but that was the worst of it. It was like having a fluffy rabbit in there that sometimes hopped around but was generally tolerable.
This baby is like a living pewter statuette - strong and hard with pointy, unforgiving pieces. This baby makes me cry. On days when he's caught up in my ribs it feels like ancient Egyptian rib-breaking torture. On other days he is doing something weird to my pubic bones and I literally walk around grabbing my crotch and wincing all day. And you know what? That's not a pain that I like to complain to people about. It's not something that garners a lot of sympathy and understanding. People don't see somebody in Target holding her crotch and trying not to cry and think, "Oh, poor dear. Must be the baby."
No. If people see you walking around Target holding your crotch they think, "That is a nut job. Keep the children away from that one."
I don't have that same stuffed sausage feeling that I had with Oliver. This may be because I am smaller this time around, or I'm not that far along yet, or maybe it's because what was once stretched before never really tightened back up... But man. My belly button hurts if you touch it. Sometimes it hurts even if I don't touch it. It's liable to take out my OB's eye if she gets too close. And I still have 2 months left.
Did you hear that? Two months. Can you imagine how much more crap can be done to my body in two months? That is unreal. I can't think about that. I know better than to think about that...
But yet? I am obsessed with thinking about that. Every time I bend over to pick something up off the floor and I wrench my kidneys I can't help but think, "Oh God. And this is only going to get worse."
My hip occasionally pops out of socket when I do too much work/move the wrong way. I am winded from climbing the stairs. I run my stomach into door frames and gouge it on table edges at restaurants. I have a very, very difficult time extracting myself from our sunken in couch. Oliver knows that if he runs away fast enough there is no way I can chase him. If he hides behind the furniture I can't fit back there to extract him.
I am a huge mess.
I wish I could say I enjoy counting down the days until this will be over. But counting down the days is really like saying, "OH GREAT! In two weeks I am going to have a root canal!"
Except one thousand times worse.
"OH GREAT! In two months my crotch will be ripped open and I'll bleed everywhere! For a month! My nipples will be replaced with fire and I will leak giant puddles of breast milk all over my bed! And my stomach skin will hang over my crotch like a cute little modesty flap! Finally I'll be able to express my true emotions by crying at cat food commercials! Maybe I will even get hemorrhoids, if I'm lucky!"
No way. I am not looking forward to that. I'd rather not know how long I've got til that comes my way. I'll just sit here holding my crotch, pretending that's never going to happen.
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