What's worse? Taking care of the chickens or sitting on the egg?
After I gave birth to Nathan, I distinctly remember one of the OBGYN's in my practice explaining to me that there are 2 parts to having a baby, pregnancy and delivery. They are completely separate from each other, and each time you conceive it could be a whole different ballgame. Whereas one could have an uneventful, easy pregnancy and a complicated, terrible delivery like I had with Nathan. Or an uncomfortable, annoying pregnancy, and a straightforward, routine delivery like I'm hoping for with this second one. Or it could all be great every time. Or it could all suck. There's no rhyme or reason to it. It's not your fault, simply just the luck of the draw. Good talk. See ya next time. Makes you wanna run right out and get pregnant again doesn't it?
There are too many humans on this planet already anyway, remind me why we do this again?
This time I am done being pregnant. Over it. Get this baby out of my body. Delivery date can't come soon enough. I never said any of those words or even thought them when I was pregnant with Nathan. I commuted into Manhattan everyday up until the day before I gave birth. I lightly worked out at the gym everyday before work. 2 days before I gave birth, I walked all over the city in the sweltering heat of August running errands. None of that is even remotely in the realm of possible things I'd be capable of this time. I can barely walk to the refrigerator. I can barely get myself out of a chair to walk to the refrigerator. The other day I was contemplating whether it was possible to prescribe bedrest to myself. Which would really be of no great advantage to me since I can't get comfortable or sleep. I have a little more than 2 weeks to go and I literally don't know how I'm going to make it.
First off, I am HUGE. Like not just normal pregnant huge, monstrously huge. Like stomach might bust open like an overstretched balloon huge. Like baby might come out any minute huge. I was at the playground with Nathan and some old guy took off his hat and used it to pretend to catch my baby that he joked looked like it could just fall out of me. Yup, I'm random grandpa making inappropriate jokes about delivering your baby huge. I am maternity pants no longer fit over my giant ass belly huge. Re-read that and let it sink in. I went to get dressed the other day and realized the full panel on my full panel maternity pants are no longer full enough to stretch over my insanely huge stomach. Even standard maternity clothing is like girl, no, too much, you are huge. So I basically have no idea what I'll wear for the next 2 weeks. Maybe a backyard tarp or a trendy shower curtain.
The lady at the orchard asked me if I was smuggling apples out under my shirt. Comedians, all of them.
Secondly, if just toppling over right on my face from being so front-heavy doesn't get me, this wicked acid reflux might be my ultimate demise. My entire esophageal tract is chronically on fire to the extent that my meals and snacks now consist of Tums, followed by more Tums. One night while I was bent over breathing fire like a pregnant dragon and popping Tums like candy, I decided to leisurely read the back of the bottle. It said not to take more than 7 tablets in 24 hours. Pregnant people shouldn't take more than 5. Awesome, I'd probably easily eaten around 10 by then. I'd be the first pregnant person to ever have their stomach pumped because they consumed too much fruity chalk.
Listen, I know this complaining is ridiculous. And I know I'm almost there, even though I feel like I've been pregnant the entire year... because I have. I know I'll have a whole set of other problems once this kid does come out. Like for starters, having an infant and a toddler. And losing all this weight I once again gained, even after I continuously said I wouldn't do this the second time around. So as much as I'd like to keep her in, I think it's time to kick her out. We'll see if I feel the same way 3 weeks from now...