In case you didn’t hear the news, I’m expecting our first baby in April. Thanks, I appreciate the congratulations! We are excited. I’m at 33 weeks, which means we’re almost done, and what the hell is going on?
With the serious change in our lifestyle approaching faster than I care to acknowledge (seriously, where did the last 33 weeks go?), I’m noticing some information coming into my frazzled brain that was previously a) irrelevant; b) relevant, but not urgent; c) obvious to everybody but me; and d) not obvious, and nobody told me.
Pregnancy is not magical or glorious
Not to be ungrateful, because I am so grateful to even be in this situation, but this really is not the most magical time of my life. Bodily functions have reached all time high levels of disgusting. Every day is a discovery that actually, yes, it could get more gross. And it’s only going to get worse as it goes on. Gas that might actually be a biohazard; pelvic ligaments slackening so much that my bones are realigning minute by minute; heart burn, insomnia, congestion, and an insane level of fatigue.
We never fully moved in to our house
When we arrived, I unpacked things as quickly as I could so that it looked vaguely orderly and I could get rid of all the cardboard boxes. I wanted a sense of stability and permanence. I didn’t think through quite how we would live here, and our lives have changed since we arrived, so how the house is set up and where things are stored needs to adapt. It doesn’t help that we tore out the pantry cupboards when we decided to redo the laundry room two years ago, and it still isn’t finished, so my “pantry” consists of shelves in the loft crammed with non-perishable items, any flat surface I can find in my minute kitchen, and the stairs. The second bedroom has always been a dumping ground for things that had no real home. I used it for massage practice, general storage, guests to stay over, and I even set up an office space for myself in there, which lasted about five minutes. The room needs to become a space for a small human being, and all the junk that is in there needs a new home, or it needs to leave. Some of it has never been unpacked since we moved in. Some has never been unpacked since I moved to this country. (Since writing this post, a friend came and blitzed the entire room for me, threw out junk while I wasn’t looking, and now it looks like a passable effort as a real nursery. Thank goodness.)
The living room is full of odds and ends that have no real place. I have no useable systems in place. There’s no order, except for a few choice elements, and those are battling against the overflowing junk and clutter, because essentially I am a hoarder and I need to learn how to get rid of things.
The kitchen is still a shambles, despite my best efforts to rearrange the cupboards and keep on top of it. There’s dog hair all over the cream floor – who puts a cream floor in a farmhouse kitchen? WHO?
I took my fit and healthy body for granted
I generally think of myself as a reasonably active individual, with a good level of flexibility and strength. I don’t think twice about leaping up from a chair, putting my shoes on, and hiking up the hill to feed the horses. Now each of those tasks takes me six times as long, or is flat out not possible. I haven’t been to the gym since November, and even then I felt weak and worthless. My legs have lost a lot of muscle, as I have been in too much pain to do much exercise.
Plans are just wishes
I had big plans about how life was going to go while I was growing a human. I was going to be dynamic and active, and I was going to tackle numerous projects, prep wholesome meals, keep riding my horse, and continue working up until just a week or so before giving birth. Plans are great, but there is literally nothing I can do to make any of them a reality in the face of how pregnancy actually made me feel. If I can get through a day without falling down or needing a nap, that’s a good day. Never mind keeping up with the laundry or the housework. As for meal planning, or even buying food at the supermarket – forget it. I don’t have a good enough memory to even remember to make it to the shops.
I also find myself making big plans for after the baby arrives: plans about bouncing back to work, bouncing back to the gym and to fitness, running events, travelling, having an abundant yet neat and tidy garden this year (hahahaa, I make myself laugh), landscaping the side of the house into some floral paradise, leaping into the saddle with confidence and exuberance, as well as being a wholesome and competent parent. I wish…
Despite being an “adult”, I have no idea what I’m doing
But at least I’m not part of that generation who can’t read a map unless Google does it for them, and can be found eating detergent for entertainment.