This is a post that I originally wrote back in January, 2010. Re-reading it gave me a chuckle and if any of you readers out there are pregnant (or happen to be married to someone who is) you might get a needed laugh, too, so I’m re-blogging it here.
What he said: “Wow, I just can’t believe how big you are at 22 weeks!”
What I heard: “Wow, I just can’t believe there aren’t folks trying to roll you back into the ocean!”
Now, I know that he hasn’t had any real experience with a pregnant woman before. I understand that he’s not had the opportunity to watch the wonder that is a baby growing inside another human being. Still, I couldn’t help but look down at my stomach after this comment and think, “Good GOD, he’s right. Come on, people, PUSH — Willy needs to get back to the open water!”
And then sit there as a couple tears of self-pity rolled down my cheek.
Yes, I can say with utmost certainty that pregnancy hormones have got me feeling overly sensitive, irrational, and more than a tad bit insecure. I’ve read that it’s all normal, and I have no doubt that’s true, but I can’t for the life of me ever remember being as hormonal during any of my previous pregnancies as I have been with this one… particularly lately.
Let’s look at another example: The other morning for some reason only the imp that lives in the water-pipe knows, while in the shower, I was inexplicably doused with icy water. There I stood, shampoo in hair, in real danger of getting it in my eyes, soaped-up all over and had absolutely no hot water. I know there was a logical explanation for it, (like the water heater had suddenly sprung a leak and flooded the entire basement or something silly like that) but at the time it was enough to send me into inconsolable tears. Really! A cold shower. Yes. I know … Hormones.
So, anyways, after the “Willy” incident, I got to thinking that if I’m this far gone at only 22 weeks, things are going to be pretty rocky for the next 18. He’s already shown an extraordinarily generous capacity for understanding. By the time Cernan is born, he’s going to be eligible for sainthood.
I think about this incident every so often and I have to shake my head in wonder at the man who put up with my near-hysterics and semi-ridiculousness back then. All things considered, I am well aware of my capacity be be illogical and, yes, downright ridiculous even on the best of days. And let’s not even talk about the random bags of poisoned clothing (really just my stuff in a beach bag) that could be lying around in someone’s backseat (ours) just waiting to make some unsuspecting individual sick (no one actually got poisoned by the bag of beachwear that was definitely NOT poisoned).