A Ride on the Pregnancy Tilt-a-Whirl

Before I Knew

Prelude

Before I knew was pregnant, I went to a super bowl party. I have absolutely no interest in sports, but those five margaritas really hit the spot. Sorry son, I didn't know you were in there. Despite my oblivion, others seemed aware that there was – just something about me. I left the bar a few minutes ahead of my other half as he finished up his post party goodbyes. I was parked across the lot from the front door and seemed to develop my own sort of gravitational pull between the two points. As I loaded a few items into my back seat a football player sized man on a very small moped followed me to tell me how beautiful I was. Once I was in my car another guy walked past the front of my car, saw me through the windshield, and started professing his love for me. I've never been THAT sort of pretty. I mean, I don't have angry townsfolk chasing me with torches and pitchforks insisting I wear a bag over my head, but this was unique indeed. I started to wonder if I was on one of those hidden camera shows. By the time Duncan made it out to the car there seemed to be a diffuse cloud of confusedly smitten men sort of hovering about. I've heard of pregnant women having “the glow,” but experiencing it was surreal. Turns out this would be just the first of a long stream of surrealities running right down the rabbit hole to motherhood. 

   

First trimester. Shit I'm tired

I've been a first shift nurse since 2011, so I thought a 4 am wake up time imbued me with a thorough understanding of what tired was. Did it through freezing cold New England winters with daylight savings time keeping me in the darkness. Get up? Dark. Drive to work? Dark. Leave work? Dark. Feeling seasonal affect sadness yet? Dark. Thought I had a pretty decent handle on the subject.

But then, pregnant. There just ain't no tired like pregnant tired. It's a zombifying-level event. I'm talking mild hallucinations in the peripheral vision while driving to work level exhaustion. When the body starts diverting resources to the set up and maintenance of growing another human being, it can sort of take the spring out of your step and make one giddy with thoughts of crawling back into bed. I was no longer “seizing the day” – I barely even bothered to poke it with a stick. I didn't like to share my toys as a child. I am now being punished by having to share my blood and oxygen supply with another human being. For 40 weeks. Shit I'm tired. And queasy. And I want Taco Bell.

Month 6

The month long orgasm of the second trimester 

 

There is a magical time in the second trimester that falls approximately in the fifth to sixth months of pregnancy. Right around this time my ladyparts were becoming more sensitive and engorged with blood. I began to think of myself as a limited edition Cadillac ride for my partner with extra deep over-stuffed seats covered with expensive plush velvet. And a hair trigger. This phenomenon made me feel like I was walking around with no less than half of a hard on at all times. I was pouncing on Duncan as many times a day as schedules would allow and even revisited the time honored tradition of masturbation. I was sometimes having four or five orgasms in a 24 hour period. Duncan smiled bemusedly at me after a particularly urgent mid day love session and said “congratulations, you now know what it feels like to be a 14 year old boy”. Yup. Great. It's all about the deeper understanding. Can we do it again now? And then I want Thai food. And popsicles.

Fuck pants. Fuck shaving. That thing I dropped on the floor? Fuck that too...

 

That pretty much sums up the third trimester. Stretchy dresses were all the clothing I could be bothered with. My preferred routine of grooming and self care had become greatly compromised. Couldn't see or reach anything on my body from the boobs down. My bloom of a belly was taut as a drum and just so immovable. I felt like I was a turtle on my back while I was standing up. I was shaving my va-jay-jay by feel and blind faith. Hadn't actually seen it since some time in my second trimester. Sleeping comfortably was impossible, and sleeping at all was nearly impossible. In the last month or so Duncan took to sleeping on an inflatable mattress on the office floor lest his slightest movement, cough, or sniffle wake me up. Or breath. I hated it when he breathed. It was time to GET. THIS. BABY. OUT. At this point it didn't matter what I ate. With my uterus pushing my stomach into my diaphragm (border wars of the organs) I hadn't held a meal down since my second trimester.  I would eat just about anything as long as it was on a corn tortilla. With cheese. And salsa.