Y’all- I know, I know, this isn’t gonna surprise a single one of you, but DAMN, this pregnancy shit is HARD.  And I don’t even have it that fucking bad!  I haven’t vomited, things don’t smell particularly bad, I have the appetite of a horse, and my clothes still generally fit (well, you know, as much as anything that is mass-produced for a size two fit model CAN fit a size 14).  I appear to have thought I was going to be one of those glowy pregnant women right out of the gate, because I am just that sort of special snowflake.  UH, NO. 

OH MY GOD, the mood swings.  UP!  DOWN!  LAUGHING! SOBBING!  MY GOD, is there no middle ground around here?

Because I am apparently contrary, I don’t get morning sickness, I get evening malaise.  I awake up before the alarm, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.  If I were the sort of person who did that type of thing, I might be tempted to go out for a run.  The world is a bright and shiny place, and I don’t even mind going to my brain-numbing job.  Pregnancy is EASY, I think to myself, EVERY MORNING (you’d think I was smarter than that, but no), until mid-afternoon rolls around. 

Somewhere around three pm, not matter the size of the lunch I’ve eaten, whether it was a monstrously nutritious salad filled with dark greens and lean protein, or a disgusting, barely-food product from Jack in the Box, a deep pit of hunger forms in my belly.  If I don’t put something in there IMMEDIATELY, the hunger turns to nausea and heartburn and a deep and unending hatred for all things human.  And even if I do eat (the small meals thing is TOTAL BULLSHIT), it’s never enough to satisfy- not nuts, or chocolate, or broccoli, or grapes- what I need is the equivalent of second lunch or first dinner.  Fuck six small meals, I need six enormous passes at an all-you can-eat buffet.  This problem is further compounded by the fact that I am not allowed to eat at my desk, so any snacking requires a trip to the cafeteria, where I sit alone, hunched over my bag of trail mix. 

I think I might be able to deal with this ravenous appetite, if it were the only thing going on.  But NO!  Just about every third day, I have a complete and total sobfest meltdown- two nights ago I was begging J not to leave me because I can’t support myself and a baby and I don’t want to live with my parents (OH MY GOD, SELF, GET A GRIP.  We’ve been married three months, I don’t think the bloom is off the rose just yet.  Besides, my parents would never let me live with them).  Once I finally calmed down,  there was a sea of tissues, a river of mascara, and that fucking headache you get when you cry too much, and of course, there’s nothing to take for it. 

The next morning, of course, everything was fine and dandy again- and HOLY SHIT, I don’t even recognize myself anymore.  Given that I am already naturally anxious (and medicated for such things), this complete slavery to my hormonal ups and downs is making me a tad bit nervous.  What the fuck am I gonna do once the BABY gets here? 

My sister-in-law is 6 months more pregnant than I am, and appears to be completely with it, so I am hoping for some miraculous turn around somewhere around week 14 (I think 5 more weeks like this is about all I can take). 

On a completely different note, this post from Mom101 got me thinking.  How do lesbian parents answer the question about how did “baby get in your tummy?”  We are planning at this point to have 2 children, so I suppose the first one will at some point inquire about his or her origin or that of his sibling.  I am all about age-appropriate honesty with children, but somehow artificial insemination seems to be a bit much to explain, and I’m certainly not going to describe baby-making as a penis-meets-vagina story if it’s not the way it happened for me.  Anyone have any bright ideas?

And if you’re moved to share your first trimester horror stories, I’ll take those too.  And please, if it doesn’t get better, just keep that shit to yourself.

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