Please. Do NOT Provoke the Preggo.

Now that I’m at the tail-end of my pregnancy, I figured I’d let out a small rant. I think it’s warranted.

To begin, I’d like to make it crystal clear that I love being pregnant. I have loved each and every second of this pregnancy, even the morning sickness. Mostly because I didn’t have morning sickness badly with my first pregnancy, and we all know how that ended. I love my belly getting bigger. I love feeling Nellie move, even when she jabs me so hard it hurts or feels really strange. I love each and every moment that my little girl grows in my belly.
That being said, one of the things I could deal without in regards to pregnancy are the hormones. I haven’t had so much of the weepy ones (aside from the occasional commercial or movie) but boy, have I ever had the irritability. If I thought that 1st trimester irritability was bad.. Woo. I hadn’t seen ANYTHING yet.
Being pregnant seems to open you up to all sorts of random comments from strangers. I don’t know if people think they’re being helpful, or funny, or witty, or what but most often they are being obnoxious and ridiculous. There is something about the sight of a pregnant woman that makes normally smart people lose their brains for a temporary period of time, and think that certain things that should not be uttered are a great idea to blab directly to said pregnant woman. I will never understand why people think it’s OK to say such things when they know a woman is in a very delicate hormonal state; probably the most delicate hormonal state of her life.
So, here is a list of the things that have irked me most in my 3rd trimester:
  1. Demanding I choose my due date. For example:
    “When are you due?”
    “January 17th.”
    “Oh, you need to wait until January 22nd to have that baby. That’s when my son, little Junior So-and-So was born!”
    “Really. That’s great.”
    Honestly, people, I cannot squeeze my legs together and keep the baby in if she wants to come out. Nor can I jump up and down and shake myself like a Coke bottle until she erupts forth from my vagina like a mass of bubbles and fizz. This baby will come when she is ready.
  2. Repeatedly asking me when I am due, especially if I see you on a regular basis. I understand that not everyone is as invested in this pregnancy as my husband and I are. That goes without saying. But if I know you relatively well, and you ask me every single time you see me (which is weekly or more than once a week) when I’m due, I’m going to get tired of sounding like a broken record. I’m going to start making shit up, just to see if you’re paying attention. “FebuMarch 40th, 2010.” Another question that could set off a pregnant woman into a rage is, “When’s that baby gonna get here?” I swear, if I get asked that one more f-ing time, I’m going to lose it. How am I supposed to know when she’s going to be here, for crying out loud? My psychic abilities don’t kick in until I’m 30, sorry.
  3. Gawking at how big/small I am. You really cannot win with this, folks. It’s best when you see a pregnant woman to say, “Wow, you look wonderful!” I don’t need to hear that I’m huge, nor do I want to hear that I’m super small. I am aware that my belly has grown since you last saw me; that’s what happens when a woman is pregnant. The baby grows, and so does the woman’s belly. It’s been happening for thousands of years, so stop acting so shocked that I have a swollen tummy.
  4. Staring at me like I have three heads when I mention my birth/parenting style of choice. Or, giving me a sympathetic/condescending smile and tell me that “that’ll change”. Yes, I’m planning a natural childbirth. No, I’m not insane. Yes, I’m aware childbirth hurts. Oh, you had an epidural? That’s fantastic, good for you. Of course I’m aware that I may change my mind, but I’m going to try my best not to. Oh, you wanted a natural childbirth too but just couldn’t do it? I’m sorry, when did my life and yours become the same thing?
    No, we’re not planning on co-sleeping. I don’t care if it’s easier to breastfeed in the middle of the night. We’re not doing it. And stop looking at me with that LOOK and tell me to “wait and see, I’ll change my mind”. I’ll stick to my guns JUST TO PROVE YOU WRONG, because I am stubborn, so is my husband and THAT’S HOW WE ROLL.
  5. “When I was pregnant back in 1874” stories. I don’t care what was the breastfeeding style (or lack thereof), clothing style, parenting style, or childbirthing style when you were pregnant back in the Dark Ages. It’s 2009. Times have changed. Get over it.
  6. Making fun/poking jokes/openly criticizing my kid’s name. This one. Oooohhh, this one just makes my blood boil thinking about it. I’m aware that our name of choice is not run of the mill. Let me explain something. Nellie was my grandmother and she died when I was ten. I have wanted to name my first daughter Nellie pretty much since I was a teenager. I made this clear to my sibling, and all of my cousins: the name Nellie is MINE. I’ve had dibs for a long time. Upon hearing what we’re naming our daughter, I’ve mostly gotten a positive reception but I have gotten a few gems that made me want to fly off the handle and rage. Here are a few:
    “Nellie? Like that bitch from Little House on the Prairie?”
    “Nellie, huh? Are you gonna call her Nell, like that retard in that movie? HUH HUH.”
    “WHOA, NELLIE!”
    “Like the rapper?”

    And this one, readers.. Was my personal “favorite”. It happened just the other day while I was sitting at work, minding my own business. The following exchange occurred between me and a woman who works in the building I do.
    “Hey there Natalie, when’s that baby due?”
    *trying not to scream, as I’ve told this woman at least 5 times* “January 17th.”
    “And what are you gonna call it?”
    “HER name is Nellie Rose.”
    “You know she’s going to hate you for naming her that, right?”
    This is what I heard in my head, ya’ll:


    What I wanted to do was calmly grab the coffee cup sitting beside me, and lob it forcefully at her head until I heard a satisfying CLUNK. What I said was,
    “Well, she doesn’t have much of a say in the matter, does she?”
    The woman replied, “Oh I know it, but you just know that when she gets older she’s going to be like, ‘Mother! You gave me such a stupid name. It’s so old fashioned!'”
    URGE TO KILL. RISING. RISING. I’m not sure what it is about people making fun of
    Nellie’s name. I think, to me, it’s like making fun of her and that raises my hair on end and makes me feel like an angry lioness about to defend her cub. I seriously want to rage at anyone who have something negative to say about my little daughter’s name.

I know this post sounds really bitchy, hormonal and ranty but really… I’m 9 months pregnant, I’m tired, cranky, and deserve a good rant every now and again, damnit. Hopefully my fellow pregnant women (and people who have been in my shoes) will have gotten a good chuckle out of this. If you are suddenly frightened by your friendly internet blogger, please don’t be. Just set down something tasty for me to eat, slowly back away, and you’ll be fine.

Probably.

Are We There Yet?

I have a similar feeling to the one I used to get near the end of a school year.

You know the one; where summer is knocking on your door, beckoning you to come out and play and yet you still have to sit through tedious lessons that go in one ear, and out the other? Yeah, that’s kind of what the last few weeks of pregnancy are like.. Especially if you’re working until your due date.
I decided to play Super Woman and work until Nellie’s arrival. Not only did I feel confident that I would feel well and energetic enough to tackle such a task, but I also figured that the more time I get to spend with my newborn daughter after she’s born, the better. Why waste my precious 6-12 weeks (depending on finances) doing silly things like resting and nesting (isn’t that clever, I just thought of it)?
I’m starting to regret my decision, as the last few weeks have certainly caught up with me. My energy levels are at an all-time low, and I get tired to the point of almost falling asleep at my desk around 3:00 every single day. Walking is hard, sitting hurts, concentrating is almost impossible. I never, ever guessed that late pregnancy would take such a toll on me mentally and physically. I’m struggling to stay focused and train my coworkers to do my job in my absence. It’s like we’re racing; fighting and struggling to get all this information crammed into their brains before the little one gets here. Every day is a battle for me to keep my motivation to do at least a little work. Luckily my coworkers are all very understanding and accommodating. I know I haven’t been the easiest person to work around in the past 9 months, what with hormones and snappy mood swings. I am a very good employee, but the past few weeks I have been a very tired, worn-out and semi-mentally checked out one.
I’m ready for my break. I know that parenthood is by no means easy and I won’t get much more sleep than I’m already getting, but I anticipate spending time with our new baby girl isn’t going to feel much like work at all. Not only am I anxious to start a mini-work hiatus, but I’m also anxious to meet Nellie. Now that I am so tantalizingly close to The Big Day, I find myself almost mentally willing my body to go into labor. I casually mentioned to Josh the other night that sometimes, foot massages can trigger labor. He practically dragged me off the couch by my toes to get his hands on my feet. We’re both really excited and anxious for this girl to get here. We’ve been waiting for her for so long, now that the end is within our grasp, we have found ourselves outstretching our fingers and wiggling trying to grab it! Both Nellie and I have our hospital bags packed, the car seat is installed and her room is completely ready. All we need is her to arrive.
I, of course, want nothing more than for her to get here safely and soundly and if I have to wait a few more weeks for that to happen, so be it.
But I’m still going to try and get as many foot massages as I possibly can. You know. Just in case my body needs a little nudge.