Sunday was not a good day…
If there’s ever a time in life that you cannot stand back, yank your arms from the slop and shit, rest those very fists against your hips and say “I’ve changed my mind; I’ve had enough and I want out. Let me out!” – it is when you’re pregnant. I realised this on Sunday.
I know… I thought I was quite smart too.
But hey, you can’t just wrench it out and leave it on the side of the road. Once it’s in there, and you’ve decided that’s where it should stay, that’s where it stays. Until it’s ready to come out.
Sjoe. Shit. Fuckadoodle doo.
Sunday felt like I just couldn’t anymore. Like that was enough now. When you come from a life where you never felt your lower intestines before or when a sore spine was usually a result of poor sleeping position and enter a life where you feel bruised and battered – where you’re scared to look at your pelvic area because you envision it has become a blue, purple mashy mess overnight – and only have the tiniest little kid with the most surprisingly strong kicks and punches to blame – things get very strange.
My friend Nadia says he’s pretty fucking grumpy too and that kinda makes sense. He’s running out of space and is probably pretty bloody bored in there. But if he really is running out of space, surely the movement should be limited?
Call me a quitter. Call me a shamelessly bad mother. Call me what you like. I care figs. The only thing I feel is sore and I’m tired of associating this with him. It’s not fair. He’s not to blame.
I can’t say I’m not excited now – the Day of The Excitement Level Hike has arrived! Yes, ma’am. I’m not sure it’s for the right reasons but with 9 weeks left, I’ve never felt more elated. And if I land up needing a C section, all the better – saves me a week or two of this at the end of the day.
Chat soon. Leave comments.