Warning: Pathetic, Hormonal and Bitchy
I’m super sensitive and emotional right now. WIth the return of some of my morning sickness (oh yes, it’s intermittently back, by the way. And a special shout out to my mother who informed me this past weekend that, she was afraid to tell me this, but she was sick for her entire pregnancy with me), I seem to have gained the gift of irritability and weepiness. Which leads me to this stupid and petty post, that, believe it or not, I am writing while holding back tears. I am aware that my pathetic-ness is due to hormones. But awareness still does not change the pathetic-ness.
One thing I’m finding that I am highly sensitive about is my size. I have actually been slightly sensitive about my underweight since seventh grade when Loi Le, who sat behind me in PreAlgebra, tweaked my shoulder and called me “anorexic” (which I never was, just mousy, boney and skinny.) Now 18 weeks pregnant, I am still not showing at all. Not in the slightest to the outside world. I had even lost weight, yet again, at my last OB appointment. I seem to have hit a resting spot, belly-wise, for quite a few weeks now, that is somewhere after being comfortable in my own pants but way before actually wearing maternity pants. And forget maternity shirts. My regular ones have ample room. But the thing about maternity pants, that they don’t tell you, is that you’ve pretty much got to wear the maternity shirts with them. Normal shirts don’t cover up the ugly paneling at the top of the pants. So even if I do slide over to the maternity pants, I’d have to wear the shirts, and it would be simply laughable.
There are four of us due around the same time at my work place. Two of them have been wearing maternity clothes since the first trimester. The other one, due five days before me, came walking into my work area this afternoon, definitely showing, in her new maternity clothes. After she left, I almost started crying (ridiculous, yes I know, but I already informed you of how pathetic I am. And I never ever cry, which points to my hormones even more.) It doesn’t help that two separate people told me this morning, “I can’t believe that you are even pregnant!” And my husband and father-in-law teased me for being so “huge” after I undid my pants button at lunch.
I am also sensitive about the fact that I haven’t felt any kicks yet, despite knowing full well that I am pretty lucky just to feel wiggles and taps at this point. I’ve even tried bribing the child with a Edie’s Lime Popsicle if she would just kick me once.
I think part of the problem is that I have always hated feeling left behind. I HATED being the last kid to be picked up after an event or practice. I would beg my mom to please please please be on time. Not that she was bad about that, but she was a typical mom and sometimes she was on time and sometimes she wasn’t. I hated sitting there, on my french horn case, trying to look like I was having a good time waiting by myself. What 13 year old girl has a good time waiting by herself? And I was desperate to not be that last girl in my class to get her period. Thankfully, I was smack dab somewhere in the middle. When choosing teams, I prayed to please please please get picked before the embarrassment zone. And with infertility, you can multiply the “left behind” feeling by about a hundred. Every pregnancy announcement was me sitting on my french horn again.
My mom didn’t show with me until she was about six or seven months along. She says that she remembers it feeling difficult, also. She went to a Christmas party in her first maternity dress and the hostess made a big deal about it being baggy on her. She told me, “At least that’s less pounds to take off after the baby comes. Your weight might end up being all baby.” True. But if one more person makes reference to my lack of bumpness, I am going to sock them one.
One thing I’m finding that I am highly sensitive about is my size. I have actually been slightly sensitive about my underweight since seventh grade when Loi Le, who sat behind me in PreAlgebra, tweaked my shoulder and called me “anorexic” (which I never was, just mousy, boney and skinny.) Now 18 weeks pregnant, I am still not showing at all. Not in the slightest to the outside world. I had even lost weight, yet again, at my last OB appointment. I seem to have hit a resting spot, belly-wise, for quite a few weeks now, that is somewhere after being comfortable in my own pants but way before actually wearing maternity pants. And forget maternity shirts. My regular ones have ample room. But the thing about maternity pants, that they don’t tell you, is that you’ve pretty much got to wear the maternity shirts with them. Normal shirts don’t cover up the ugly paneling at the top of the pants. So even if I do slide over to the maternity pants, I’d have to wear the shirts, and it would be simply laughable.
There are four of us due around the same time at my work place. Two of them have been wearing maternity clothes since the first trimester. The other one, due five days before me, came walking into my work area this afternoon, definitely showing, in her new maternity clothes. After she left, I almost started crying (ridiculous, yes I know, but I already informed you of how pathetic I am. And I never ever cry, which points to my hormones even more.) It doesn’t help that two separate people told me this morning, “I can’t believe that you are even pregnant!” And my husband and father-in-law teased me for being so “huge” after I undid my pants button at lunch.
I am also sensitive about the fact that I haven’t felt any kicks yet, despite knowing full well that I am pretty lucky just to feel wiggles and taps at this point. I’ve even tried bribing the child with a Edie’s Lime Popsicle if she would just kick me once.
I think part of the problem is that I have always hated feeling left behind. I HATED being the last kid to be picked up after an event or practice. I would beg my mom to please please please be on time. Not that she was bad about that, but she was a typical mom and sometimes she was on time and sometimes she wasn’t. I hated sitting there, on my french horn case, trying to look like I was having a good time waiting by myself. What 13 year old girl has a good time waiting by herself? And I was desperate to not be that last girl in my class to get her period. Thankfully, I was smack dab somewhere in the middle. When choosing teams, I prayed to please please please get picked before the embarrassment zone. And with infertility, you can multiply the “left behind” feeling by about a hundred. Every pregnancy announcement was me sitting on my french horn again.
My mom didn’t show with me until she was about six or seven months along. She says that she remembers it feeling difficult, also. She went to a Christmas party in her first maternity dress and the hostess made a big deal about it being baggy on her. She told me, “At least that’s less pounds to take off after the baby comes. Your weight might end up being all baby.” True. But if one more person makes reference to my lack of bumpness, I am going to sock them one.
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