Something's baking in there, and it sure ain’t cookies.Yep, this girl has been diagnosed with elderly primigravida, effectively making me not a girl, but a 36-year old woman who is with child. I'm 17 weeks and 3 days today. Introducing...Baby Bean! Say hello to my little friend.
Whoever said that pregnancy is the most
exciting time of one’s life got that right for sure, but they forgot to add “neurotic”
and “terrifying” (like ass clenching terror, seriously). Of course, it could
just be my obsessive personality again. I tend to fixate on disaster and worst
case scenarios when I’m not daydreaming of triple medaling in gymnastics, judo,
and beach volleyball.
As if advanced maternal age wasn't enough to throw me into a neverending spin cycle of crazy, I also have high blood pressure to worry about. Well, just like pimpin', being preggo ain't easy.
I wish my brain would just slow its roll though. I’ve talked
to some women who are like, “My pregnancy was so easy! I never worried about a thing! It was perfect!”
Oh yeah? Screw you. Me? I barely got off the couch for the first 13 weeks. I’ve
never been so scared in my entire life. I still feel like the only thing
holding this baby in is the sheer force of my mind and the power of maternal
love. It kills me that I can’t control the universe right now – which is why I
bought a brand new Volvo. It stops itself from crashing into something/someone
if you are going less than 19 mph, which is my normal driving speed these days anyway.
Alas, I can be the most careful driver in the world, but I can’t control the stupidity of others. Put down the phone already! You can LOL WUT’S UP them later. I want to punch these people in the face.
They say it gets better. I think they’re lying. This
information comes from people who have already had their babies – those who
made it to the finish line without any complications. Sometimes I want to punch
these people in the face, too. I’m not there yet with a baby in my arms, so
yeah, it’s hard. Every ache, every stitch in my side, my blood pressure…every
time I even go to the bathroom…is cause for alarm. I’m almost to the halfway
point, but the worries haven’t stopped. I don’t even want to eat vegetables for
shit’s sake (literally), because I’m afraid of contracting listeria. I know I
have to, so I make myself, but it often becomes a big production that involves
a rosary, meditation music on YouTube, and random thoughts from the Tibetan Book of Living and Dying, which I read years ago for a Sociology of Death class at UCI.
Next February, once Baby Bean is here, I want to look back on
all this and laugh. Do I think I will? Probably not. I’ll be on to the next
worry and the next worry and the next. Will it be worth it? Yes. Of this, I am
certain. I’ve loved my Bean since the moment I found out back in May, when I was
sure she was a boy.
I don't even know what this is a picture of and I'm hoping this isn't classified as some kind of baby porn, but the tech at the private ultrasound place said she's 99% sure Bean is a girl. I'll know more details next week when I go to the 18 week ultrasound with my doctor. I'm nervous, but hopefully all will be well and Bean will have all her important organs and necessary parts working in good order.
So, will I be one of those people who tell scared pregnant
women that it gets better and to enjoy the happiest time of one’s life?
Hell fucking no. I don’t want to be punched in the face by an APP (Angry
Pregnant Person – I am president of that club, by the way).
I know, I know – stay positive. The baby doesn’t need any
negativity and stress. Sorry, Baby Bean! I'm trying! Less than 23 weeks to go now. Cross your fingers and toes we
get there!
