Friday, May 24, 2013

the quest for an accurate description

I've come here several times to write, only to either chicken out or decide that what I have to say is very much TMI, at least for the type of blog this has become. Finally at some point between last night and this morning, it hit me. The perfect description for what pregnancy is.

To set a base feeling: you're pretty fat and you keep on gaining. You have arthritis, carpel tunnel, and (apparently) runner's knee, even though you're not a runner and never have been.

Now, have you ever been to a chicken wing joint where they have one of those contests, an "Eat the whole plate of a dozen atomic ghost pepper wings and get your picture on the wall" type of thing? Let's say you take them up on this contest. And for every wing or two that you eat, you decide to make it more interesting by doing a shot of tequila. You get home that night and in confusion, take a big swig of what you thought was Pepto Bismol but was actually Milk of Magnesia. Or castor oil, whatever floats your boat.

The resulting aftermath--the way you feel when you wake up and for the following day(s)--is my best attempt at describing the magical miracle that is pregnancy.  Except you feel like that every night and day, sometimes all day or sometimes in (surprise!) waves, even if all you ate is water and plain toast and Zantac. You didn't even get to have any wings (let alone the tequila, heh). You can't even eat a popsicle without paying for it all night long. And you (lucky you!) get to feel like this for the better part of a year.

To every person who tells you to 'sleep while you can' and 'enjoy your time alone before baby' and 'go out with your husband and enjoy yourself,' you wish upon them much misfortune.

So, greetings, from pregnancy week 39. I'm pretty happy we decided to subscribe to cable TV a few weeks ago. It's a true friend.

If you leave a comment telling me to 'walk the baby out' I will hunt you down. Or, I would, if I didn't somehow develop a huge blister on the bottom of the arch of my foot (uh, what?) yesterday from attempting to walk less than a mile.