It shouldn’t come as a surprise to any of you that when you have children nothing is ever a given. One day you have a demon child who will not cooperate and throws a steady stream of tantrums over nothing. The next day you have an angel who makes you think you should have forty more children as quickly as possible.
My child was an angel on Monday evening. I picked him up from daycare and he was cooperative and smiling. We got home and he sat with me in the rocking chair while we read books and sang songs. Dinner was uneventful which in and of itself is an event. Bath time was a dream and removing him from the tub did not end in screaming. Pajamas and bed time were simple.
I’m not sure who that child was on Monday. My son was so sweet that it actually made me nervous. A poor nap on Tuesday brought back the demon that has taken over our household over the last few weeks. He’s honestly been so up and down lately that I’d swear I was dealing with a teenager instead of a toddler. Mood swings, tantrums, frustration, it actually sounds like pregnant me. Pregnant me is not fun.
I’ve not talked about this pregnancy a tremendous amount except to say I’ve been sick. The truth of it is I love children but hate being pregnant. I hate it with a passion I generally reserve for Britney Spears or yogurt with fruit on the bottom.
Not to go off on a tangent (actually fuck it, let’s tangent) but fruit on the bottom yogurt honestly makes me shudder. There is something about that combination of textures that grosses.me.out. This is all compounded by the fact that I have no idea how long that fruit has been on the bottom. I am honestly horrified just thinking about it. Considering how much my husband loves fruit on the bottom yogurt this could be a problem for our marriage. Give me plain yogurt with granola and honey any day.
Anyway, pregnancy blows. On top of being sick, forgetting everything, not being able to sleep, and having to give up the many food things I love (wine, massive amounts of coffee, scotch, sushi) I end up feeling horrendously self-conscious. It kind of sneaks up on me in pregnancy. In the beginning I feel all “fuck yeah! I am growing new life!” but in the middle of it I just feel fat, tired, and awkward. I’m kind of in the stage where you can’t tell I’m pregnant yet so you just think I’ve had an extra Twinkie or 12. At least in the third trimester there is an obvious reason for my bitchiness and I feel less fat and more overtaken by a parasite.
I know once another two months go by I’ll be showing in a more obvious way and feeling better about the whole business. I will still dislike being pregnant. I’m currently debating if pregnancy is worse than a cranky, frustrated toddler. I will report back when I have more data to support a decision.