Pregnancy: The Dark Side (Part 2)

Some of you may remember from the first installment of my pregnancy lament back in August (click here) that I had a suspicion that at 6 months, I didn’t know the full extent of the misery. I was right. A whole hoard of things have happened since then which deserve a mention on this pregnancy-saturated blog. Admittedly most of them have ot do with the changing shape of my body, but to be honest that has easily been the most alarming factor of these past 3 months

But before I get into all that, I’m going to give a last minute reminder that the closing date to enter ‘Guess the Baby Fact Game’ is no doubt not too far off. With me due to ‘release the child’ within the next few weeks, anyone wishing to hazard a guess at dates, weights and gender, please click here.

Anyway. Let the bitterness begin!

Pregnancy: The Dark Side (Part 2)

• The readily adopted theory that this is the one time you are able to eat what you please, so go hard. SO coming back to haunt me later.
  
• Moles. Moles you didn’t even know you had, not only make an appearance, but do so emphatically. Deep brown colour, bobbling out in fearsome 3D
  
• Lungs the size of plums that result in dog-like panting after taking on the smallest and shortest of inclines.
  
• Bingo wings.
  
• Your dancing becomes downright hysterical to anyone who you feel safe enough doing it around.
  
• Swollenness. Fat fingers. Hobbit feet. The fact that when you take of your airplane socks (ie those that are meant to fit all) in the evening to go to bed you are greeted by indentations on your ankles the size of minor canyons
  
• Heartburn. AKA ‘Reflux’ or vomiting in your mouth. Nothing quite like that taste, mmmmm.
  
• I wouldn’t say a ‘double chin’ as that suggests definition between the two. Perhaps ‘the emergence of jowels’ is more apt.
  
• The loss of facial definition overall. I referred to it as ‘the acid melt’ earlier in this blog and you all predictably came back with ‘you look lovely’ comments so I won’t got that far this time. Lets just say that it all rolls into one ball of puff.
• Unmanageable hair and a fear of getting a haircut that only serves to accentuate the blobbyness of your face.
  
• The appetite of ten burley men.
  
• Hormones that make your skin believe your are in the middle of puberty.
  
• Lactic Acid build up. In your Finger joints. I shit you not. Each morning I wake up with claws for hands that result in much pathetic whimpering as I try to straighten them.
  
• The fact that the actual ‘birth’ begins to loom so forebodingly that the prize at the end seems remote and unfathomable and you begin to wonder what the hell you are doing.
  
• Unintentional and ill-timed grunting.
  
• Meeting mothers who ‘adored pregnancy’. WTF? Nine months of abstinence from everything fun for the pay off of a few ‘moments of connection’ when the baby kicks you in the lungs/bladder? These people are not normal.
  
• When the baby kicks you in the lungs or bladder.
  
• When the baby kicks you ANYWHERE at 38 weeks and as your stomach/body has no more elasticity, the only result is be pain.
  
• Midwives who refer to pain as ‘discomfort’
  
• Thighs large enough to be running in the Melbourne cup
  
• The loss of balance. The smallest incline, if misjudged, can result in the most embarrassing slow motion stack. Which brings three people rushing over from seemingly nowhere and causes a cyclist to stop, all crying ‘Are you ok?! Are you ok?!
  
• And even though you are ok and you tell them all you are ok, the first thing you do when they are out of sight is call your boyfriend and start bawling over a grazed knee that a third-grader wouldn’t flinch at.
  
• Emotional fragility (see above).
  
• Twitchiness. Legs take on a life of their own, often performing a little jig (akin to what Laura has called the Fagin) at inopportune moments, such as when you are going to sleep (which if you are sporting some mega-thighs means that NO-ONE is that bed is going to sleep)
  You begin to really listen to your mother.
  
• The point where you become so big that some of your maternity clothes no longer fit.
  
• The realisation at about 37 weeks that if you have somehow gotten yourself on ground level, nothing bar a crane will get you off it.
• The brain power of a stereotypical blond, the memory of a goldfish.
  
• Shoes. Nigh on impossible to put on by yourself. Ones with laces are a pipe dream.
  
• A partner who is likely to never go through pregnancy (and yet holds a firm belief that it would be a doddle) when responding to your concerns about the labour/birth literally pats you on the head and literally says ‘There, there. It will be fine… I hope it happens at night during the Ashes’