The Havoc of Pregnancy

As I begin this post, I already know I'm going to leave something out. So much happened physically along the way there's no way to recall it all as my son is now nine months old. That and pregnancy brain turns into mom brain. Yup ladies, yours to keep. Not only am I not going to recall it all, there is no way I am going to remember order of onset so I shall just recall as much as possible working head to toe. 

 

My actual head – starting maybe half way through my pregnancy I developed itching. From my scalp to my feet and everywhere in between. As I got closer to my due date it went from bad to dark place. It was most severe on the very top of my head and the soles of my feet. Because I also had to pee every 15 minutes, Duncan would often find me perched on the potty from his adjoining half bath contemplating whether I should actually go back to bed or just stay there because it already felt like I needed to pee again. The thing that would actually get his attention was the sound. The scratching sound. The scratching sound that was me sitting on the toilet alternating grinding my hairbrush in to my scalp and then assaulting my feet with it. Mixed with insomnia. I was working over 40 hours a week and I had a 4 a.m. wake up time. My darkest night I slept 45 non-consecutive minutes. I was sitting on the throne, trying to coax my bladder into being done for a while and accosting my skin with my hair brush. I remember looking over at the pointed hair stick I had taken out of my hair earlier that evening and considering stabbing myself with it. Maybe the pain would make me stop itching for a while. I then decided thoughts like this warranted a call and visit to the OB office. I was prescribed a low dose safe for pregnancy don't let insomnia make you hurt yourself sleep aid. Thank the Goddess.

Eyes – my eyes changed drastically. Between being pregnant and over 40 I was doing that mid-life thing of lifting my glasses up and down trying to see my phone screen, my computer screen, anything in print anywhere, or trying to pluck a chin hair in the bathroom mirror. Lean in with the tweezers and that bastard disappears! I was told to wait three month postpartum. Got new glasses for my birthday. Progressive lenses. Very politically correct way of saying bifocals.  (Chin hair and bifocals? Aren't I too old to be pregnant?)

Nose – hound dog nose. I could smell a fly fart from the next room. I could taste everything I smelled. And I'm a nurse. Yeah.

Heartburn and GERD – Heartburn became a constant at some point. I was eating tums like candy. Then heartburn's big bully brother showed up. The one that likes to melt ants with a magnifying glass. Nothing like waking up choking and coughing so hard from stomach acid it makes you throw up. And no antacid can help you now. It takes a while for the burning to stop. I developed a cough from the acid burns in my throat. The OB prescribed Prilosec. As soon as I delivered I never needed another pill.  Also, my son is the baldest baby on this island. So. Bald.

 

 Tummy time – Trigger warning. This paragraph is about barfing. I was queasy through my first trimester, but did not throw up until the first day of my second trimester. And pretty much every day thereafter. And soon every meal thereafter. With baby taking up prime real-estate the other organs have to go somewhere. My gut was caught between a rock and a hard place, known as my uterus and diaphragm. Let me give some pointers and tips on the fine art of the barf. Skip throwing up in a toilet. What's the first thing that happens when you throw up in a toilet? Backsplash.  On face, toilet, and if you do it hard enough, floor mats and surrounding areas. Get yourself a nice tall kitchen waste basket. And a Costco sized box of trashcan liners. While pregnant we lived in a condo that had a dumpster right out front. Duncan always insisted on taking my vomit out to the dumpster for me. I was, after all, doing the hard part. Romance in the pregnancy era. Nothing like it. Should have bought stock in Listerine. Whatta man whatta man whatta mighty fine man...

Several things happened from the waist down.

Hemorrhoids – OK, moving right along.

Edema – My lower body swelled to the point of, I'm not sure what adjective to use. Swollen? Puffy? Deformed? Corpulent? She blocks the sun? She looks like a float from the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade? I've complained about the torment my lower legs and feet went through, especially in the last six weeks or so. Well in the end days I also developed balls. There. I said it. Have fun with that vivid mental imagery. If you are busy trying to unsee it, just remember I LIVED it. When I would get out of the shower I walked like a cowboy and understood for just a while why it is that men just can not seem to stop the never ending quest of re-arranging their junk. Here is an actual picture of my vagina the week before I gave birth:

Changing centers of gravity and generalized clumsiness – It is the blessed few that are born with both strength and grace. I believe I was built and born sturdy to keep me from a premature self inflicted death. And then the added degree of difficulty of pregnancy happened. So now I'm responsible for keeping TWO people safe in this body. A friend of mine told me she once caught her very pregnant belly on a door knob.  I painfully learned what that meant.  While they do let you out of rooms, doorknobs are still the devil.  I think

some time around six or seven months pregnant my guardian angel just put her resume on monster.com and filed a restraining order against me.

A few highlights of postpartum change:

Nipples – I had no idea that breastfeeding would make my nipples so prominent that they would actually bend/fold over in my bra. This would in turn cut off circulation to the tip-of-the-nip-most-bits. The sensation caused by this circulatory impediment can only be described as having a cigarette extinguished on those tender bits. And then it's my turn in the line at the bank and while the teller thinks I am a distracted flake I am merely wrestling the urge (much like I would wrestle a greased pig or alligator) to scream out “MY NIPPLES ARE ON FUCKING FIRE HOW DOES ANYBODY PULL OFF BREASTFEEDING? I would like to make a withdrawal.”

The Va-Jay-Jay – My son was forced out of me with a Pitocin battering ram on his due date because I was about to pop like a hot grape in the Maui sun. Did I mention that I was in my last days of pregnancy in the height of the Maui summer heat? Well played, Me, well played.

So, when I go on vacation I like to clean my home top to bottom and have everything in order so I have a gentle transition back into reality upon my return. Vaginal birth is kind of like that. I open the front door and go in, and it's still my house, but hey who moved the piano and put the couch against that wall while I was gone? Did somebody Feng Shui while I was away? Still my place, but nothing's quite where I left it. Duncan doesn't seem to mind the remodel. 

 

My Heart – I am a demanding woman. self described as hard. I give my all but I expect it back, I get what I give. Meet me half way, be a partner. My love has pretty much always had conditions and expectations attached. This is probably an over correction from a time when I was so desperate for love and approval I did it all and then some. And then my child. Threaten my child and (in Batman voice) “I will eat you and shit you out.”

 

One night in his first two weeks of life (those first nights all ran together) he squalled. I was standing up and holding him in the dark before I was even awake. In the dark he punched me with his little flailing fists of fury in my open eye. I saw fireworks. And my only stunned thought at the time was thank the Gods I didn't drop him. I would have never forgiven myself.

My Super Duper Little Booper has blown my heart wide open, and given me the gift of feeling unconditional love. It aches beautifully. I still get weepy some days when I have to go to work. And that is because my heart now beats outside my body.