I am officially in my third trimester today. The home stretch, so to speak.
But speaking of stretching, I have been impressed overall with my body and how it’s handling this whole baby-growing thing. Knock on wood, but so far I’ve had no stretch marks, no leg cramps, no preeclampsia or other scary symptoms. A little ligament pain for a couple of weeks whenever I walked downhill too fast, but that has been about it. I sleep soundly, and only get up once during the night to pee (sometimes not even that) and go right back to sleep, and can still even roll over in bed fairly easily; I’m not talking ballet graceful, but certainly not beached whale either.
Regarding mental health, it has not been as smooth.
I haven’t really been worried about the kid. She kicks me in regular intervals, but not too often and only rarely are they painful. I have had a couple of moments of concern or panic about becoming a mom, but it’s usually been induced by lack of sleep.
Quite frankly, I have been too panicked about other things, like where are we going to live starting next week, to worry about the baby, or giving birth.
Unless an article like THIS comes along saying that my preferred birthing environment is WAAAAY dangerous, and then I want to reach out to all the crunchy hippie moms I know out there and ask them to tell me it’s all lies and that everything will be okay.
But I can’t, or feel like I can’t, because a) I’m not comfortable sharing my birthing preferences with the world of Facebook, b) I only know about three people who haven’t given birth in a hospital intentionally, and c) I am a "rational" person who must weigh all the evidence, even if I don’t like it.
God I hate how f*cking rational I am sometimes.
It’s the same sort of rational reasoning that has kept me from screaming my head off at people at just how angry and fed up I am with them for trying to be "helpful" and only stressing me out more, or not even trying to be "helpful" when they REALLY should be, mainly because it is not very productive and will not accomplish much of anything.
F*cking rationality.
Because I AM angry. I am SO angry!
And I don’t think it’s hormonally-induced anger. When sharing my frustration with two other confidants, both of them confirmed that I was genuinely getting screwed over and/or not being considered.
No matter how hard I try to get things in order, it feels like there are little gremlins behind me trying to mess stuff back up. Finally find a rental for July that meets our ridiculous number of requirements? They decide to cancel. Think we’ve decided on a baby’s name, my husband suddenly decides it’s too common. The aunts decide on a family-style baby shower and date, and hubby suddenly realizes that’s a day he’ll be out of town and REALLY wants to come to the shower and demands we change the date. Hubby ALSO now questioning our plans to rehome the big, scary, over-aggressive dog. Bank is refusing to give us a firm closing date on the new home. The new home owners refusing to let us move in even though the house is sitting empty. Work is chaotic, with many many programs and plans in motion that keep changing and need accommodating. Mother-in-law and Father repeatedly call me to ask if I’m panicked yet, because regardless of if I am or not they’ll do it for me, at me, and loudly.
But I am trying to play it all cool and Vulcan-like because not only is it (mostly) useless to get angry and mad, it’s really bad for the kid.
Like preterm labor and stunted growth bad.
While I feel like most of the time I am calm and zen, there are times where I feel like The Hulk, with this little layer of rage just below the surface, like raspberry jam right underneath a vanilla icing (can you tell I’m also hungry right now?).
Above all else, I just want to be settled and able to focus on giving birth and my baby, and what the f*ck I’m supposed to do with her once she shows up.
She doesn’t seem to care, so far. She seems like she’d be chill with pretty much anything. And I’m trying to emulate that.
But when the dude who rents from me calls me up and asks for my new address so he can send me this month’s rent, and I have to tell him I don’t have a new address yet, it’s embarrassing and stressful and I don’t like it.
But most of the time I am surprisingly zen/chill/mellow/etc. Here’s hoping my zen streak continues, if nothing else for Ziggy’s sake.


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