Just Call Me Bruce Banner

Okay, so, first let me preface by saying that I am so thankful that Huff the Hubs and I are going to be parents. We know so many couples who have faced the devastating effects of infertility or losing a baby that I want to make it clear this baby was planned and is very much wanted.

Now that that’s cleared up, on to the complaining.

While I work, I like to have noise in the background. Wait. Let me clarify. The banging on the wall from the uncontrolled hellions next door and the constant door slamming from the hillbilly neighbors downstairs is not the kind of noise I like. I prefer the witty banter of the cast of Friends, coming from my DVD player.

Yesterday while working away, I saw that The One With the Worst Best Man Ever episode was starting and I had to take a break to watch it. For those of you not obsessed with Friends like me, this episode is the one where Ross makes Joey his best man for his wedding with Emily (the British hag) meanwhile, Rachel and Monica throw a “baby” shower for Phoebe who is carrying her brother’s triplets.

The part that made me crack up uncontrollably was not the part where the duck swallows Ross’s engagement ring, but rather all of the crazy mood swings that Phoebe is experiencing. Mostly because, I can totally relate.

Later in the episode, Phoebe goes from laughing and crying to screaming angry to gentle again.

This has been me the past few days.

Ask Huff the Hubs, he’ll testify.

Since Sunday, I have gone from grumpy cat to depressed to angry and back to an even keel. And because of this, I’ve decided something:

Pregnancy sucks {sometimes}. Don’t get me wrong, I’m SO happy to have my little girl growing away in there. And I also like the fact that I can say: “Oh, I’m sorry, I can’t do that. I’m pregnant.” (<–this mostly comes in handy when people want me to hold something heavy or I don’t want to get up to refill my drink, lest I lose my spot on the couch.)  And I also love the way Huff the Hubs looks at me when he catches me looking at my baby belly. Every time I see that look it makes me love him even more.

But, other than that, pregnancy kind of blows.

You’re in a constant state of back and forth:

Aw, look at my bump! I love my bump!

Ugh, I look so fat.

Man, I’m tired. I think I’ll take a nap. 

My back hurts no matter how I lay down! 

I am so hungry. 

Why am I hording these cookies from my husband like a mental patient?!

Oh look, someone commented on my blog!

What did they mean by that?! They hate me! Why do I even do this?!

I knew pregnancy could make you a little crazy and a little forgetful, but I always thought I’d be able to handle it a lot more than I am now. After all, I clawed my way out of depression and dependency on medication so I thought I knew how to be in control of my emotions. Yeah. I didn’t count on all the lovely hormones.

I also didn’t realize how overwhelming life can be for a pregnant woman. You feel like you have to keep going at the same speed and with the same gusto as you did before you got knocked up because you don’t want people to think any less of you. But its just not possible (this is why Kim Kardashian went to the hospital. That, and she’s always around Kanye West. That’d exhaust anyone).

The truth is, you’re growing another person. And even though we aren’t doing anything, consciously, to help that process its so draining. You want to go for a walk, but you don’t have the energy. You want to go shopping, but you feel like everyone is staring at your belly, unsure if you’re pregnant or chubby. Its a paradox. A frustrating, I-may-go-Katie-Kaboom-on-everyone-here paradox.

So if you’re married to/related to/know a woman who’s sporting a belly bump, try not to be offended when she cries or b*&^% slaps you for asking how far along she is. Just give her a handful of M&Ms, stroke her hair, and sing a few bars of Soft Kitty. The moment will pass and she’ll be somewhat normal again.

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