I’m huge, waddling everywhere, can’t wear goddam thing, eat like a vacuum cleaner on amphetamines and keep saying and doing stupid shit for no reason. Everything hurts, I just want to sleep, and the dog is overprotective.
And the really dumb part? This is the easiest pregnancy ever. Why the hell do people do this? Why was this a good idea? And why do people do this more than once, when presumably 99.9% percent of women have it way worse than me? Why, for the love of god, do people go through this several times? And where is my stork? I was promised a cute stork and a cute, already-outside-my-body-baby, dammit. I was lied to!
Six weeks to go…
Please tell me it gets…no, it doesn’t get better. Please, somebody, just tell me it gets over with. I need some support here.
The third trimester of pregnancy and the teenage years are about making you look forward to a painful separation process. “I don’t care how much its going to hurt, it can’t be worse than this!” Its necessary because otherwise you’d be looking at every newborn and instead of saying “oh, how tiny”- you’d be screaming at them - “they want me to push THAT out of my hoo-ha!” The other truth about the third trimester is that newborn babies only look freaking HUGE to women in their third trimester. Because they ARE freaking huge.
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The other truth about the third trimester is that newborn babies only look freaking HUGE to women in their third trimester. Because they ARE freaking huge.
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Did I mention my ethnic group literally has the largest newborns in the world?
My thought: “Sounds like she’s got 6 to 8 weeks to go…”
Yep. It does get over with. It really doesn’t get better until it’s gotten over with, but then it gets better in a matter of moments. It’s truly astounding how fast it gets better when it begins to get better, and how much better it gets when it starts getting better. And THAT is why women have more than one baby. Because the amount of better it gets is much more than the amount of suck it is right now.
Yeah, I wouldn’t have minded giving birth many more than two times. What I would have minded is being pregnant again, especially the final month. Of course, one has to remember that every single day that goes by, the baby is getting more finished, more healthy, more likely to thrive. This I say with more than 35 years since I last dealt with it!
Take your tale and add the heat and humidity of Florida to the last month, and I’m so there with you! Plus my little angel was nearly 2 weeks late. It wasn’t enough that she was doing gymnastics in utero, she also had to rearrange my internal organs and prolong the entire event.
It’s a good thing I was being watched right after she was born - I’d have turned her over to the first passing band of circus performers that wandered by maternity. Instead, we kept her around, and she turned out to be OK.
So, deep cleansing breaths. Think happy thoughts. This too shall pass. Have a happy baby!
It gets over with. They’ll drag the little beggar out of there kicking and screaming, if necessary. I know, because my brother and both of my nieces had to be forcibly evicted.
I am 30 weeks right now. A prosecutor asked me how I was feeling. My response: “I have moved from the cute, happy, everyone touch my belly phase… to the fat, can’t fit in my suits, having a hard time wiping my ass phase of pregnancy.”
Literally, when there comes a time that you cannot comfortably wipe your own ass, and this is a voluntary condition, it makes one wonder about their own sanity. Particularly if you’ve done it before.
We were laughing about bending over and asking your husband to look and see if that spot on your asshole is a hemorrhoid or not, and if it is, and you put this cream on it? The love just dies. Simple as that.
But it does end. It does get better. And at the end you get the best fucking prize on the planet. Seriously!
My husband and I often say that true love isn’t flowers and candles, it’s “honey, what is this thing on my butt?” If you haven’t seen “This Is 40,” you should!
The twelve…thirteen…fourteen…I’ve lost count…month of pregnancy. Where beached whale is an accurate description and you can’t get behind the wheel of your own car to drive.
About two weeks before I gave birth Vice President Gore came through town on his campaign tour for president (my daughter was born in 1999). It was August, it was hot, humid, and I was at the “do I try a fit and squish a little, or do I push the seat back far enough that its hard to reach the gas” stage of balloon. His motorcade shut down traffic as I was trying to get out of the city - and I was working downtown in an office, so I had to be dressed professionally. I haven’t really forgiven the Democrats - and I think that is a reasonable response.
Yeah Septima, hang on…it will be over soon - except for the stories. You get to tell them for a LONG time.
THIS. I took detailed notes about the last bit of pregnancy and childbirth (and the first part of infancy), and when I go back and look at them I can feel my mind resisting remembering exactly how bad and awful it was.
There are some pretty powerful amnesia hormones going on, I think… otherwise the human race would die out pretty quickly.
Hi! Between that and getting over this flu thing that makes me pee when I cough, well…I take a lot of baths. But I’m having a hard time getting out of the tub now.
I’m due on the seventh. The house is a disaster, I’ve made the sofa crooked, my feet hurt when I get out of bed, let alone later, and I look like Roseanne Barr. Also, why doesn’t Dairy Queen deliver?
Between that and getting over this flu thing that makes me pee when I cough, well…I take a lot of baths. But I’m having a hard time getting out of the tub now.