What to Really Expect if You're Expecting to Expect
As of tomorrow, I am 37 weeks pregnant, so I feel sufficiently wise to lend words of wisdom and advice to others.
And, let me tell you, at about 34 weeks, pregnancy really begins to suck.
I'm exhausted. My back is killing me to the point that I can't walk. I get dizzy when standing, sleepy when sitting. I'm hungry. I'm huge. I'm emotional. There are weird stabbing pains happening everywhere. I need assistance lifting myself from a sitting position. I wake several times during the night to go to the bathroom, and my eyes seem to mysteriously pop open each morning at 4 so that I can obsess over nothing until my alarm goes off at 7.
All this in preparation for an arrival that will leave me spent, sleepless and, more than likely, depressed, for about three to six months. As excited as I am to meet the little guy (and get him out of there), I don't know whether to be impatient or apprehensive.
HG has taken to getting up early and driving me all the way to work. It's wonderful, although I feel quite guilty - about his missing sleep as well as our paying a daily $6 tunnel fee. But the steps leading in and out of the subway have become ruthless! Now I know how my out of shape mother feels when she visits the city (Mommy, never again will I chastise you for having to stop and catch your breath repeatedly during the trip from the subway to our place, as annoying as it can sometimes be.)
These symptoms may only apply to me. I haven't had nausea or stretch marks or hemorrhoids, or countless other horrifying ailments that pregnant women can be subjected to. So you may not have an apple-sized knot in your lower back that throbs when you are standing up, or hammy feet that would cause even Fred Flintstone to take offense. But I can guarantee this: You will be surprised by how infrequently people offer to give up their seat on the train to a woman who plainly looks as if she is smuggling a medicine ball. I do feel bad when people have to give their seat up, especially women who are being kind while the lazy men sitting next to them won't even make eye contact with me. I have rerouted my commute so that I can get on an empty train, even if I have to wait for a few to go by, so that I don't have to bear the guilt of making someone else stand for a stop or two. Because when the train is packed and no one offers a seat to me, I get a little nuts. Ok, I panic. My eyes start to tear up, my knees get weaker and my legs slacken, as if my body were forcing me to crumble at the very injustice. It's not just because it's rude and cruel to let a clearly disabled person bob back and forth as the train jerks around, bumping into other passengers and risking a probable fainting spell, it's that standing hurts more than walking when you are pregnant - it hurts more than anything you can imagine, resting all of your bulk on these poor little swollen feet. I vow to never again selfishly stay in my seat if I see anyone worse off than me who could use it.
(It should be noted that people on the NJ PATH trains are much more considerate than people on the NYC subway. I hardly ever get a seat offered to me on the subway, but on the PATH it's pretty much a given. Who said only the strong survive in NJ?)
While pregnant, you will also learn that people are rude. You have no idea how rude until you have carried a child in your belly. I am shocked at the number and variety of men who make comments to me on the street. "That's a big baby." "Any day now." Or, the ever popular, "Twins!" About seven different strange men have told me I'm having twins during the past four months or so. Are these the same types of men who cat-call women? Or some different breed of chubby chaser? Not that I think they are hitting on me (although I'm sure there are men out there who believe that telling a women she looks like she's having twins is an appealing conversation starter), but what are they doing? Is it some form of Tourette Syndrome?
Also, you know when someone on the street bumps into you really hard because they can't bother to shift their body a mere two inches to the side to avoid it, and then they just casually keep walking? This happens even when you are pregnant. To New Yorkers, you will be just another fat lady in the way.
Worse are the people you know. For example, a friend's mother-in-law will not let me forget how huge I look. I would say she makes an average of eight comments on the size of my baby or belly each time I see her, give or take a few made exclusively to my husband. My friend carried differently than I am, didn't gain much, and had a 9 pound baby. So, by comparison, mother-in-law actually predicted my baby is going to be 24 pounds (though, to be fair, the next day she amended it to 16 pounds). Herr Guitar is astonished by this woman's behavior, because unlike her, he knows that a woman's size, shape and weight are sensitive subjects not to be cackled about in such a cavalier way. Sure, if something slipped out once, I could handle it. I can even handle the constant barrage, because there is little I can do about it and my only concern right now is having a healthy baby. In a few months, I may be fat and miserable and cursing the world. Right now I can only do what feels right. (Not that a 40E bra size feels right, but you get my point.)
On the positive side, a Starbucks worker gave me my venti iced decaf no-water americano for free last week. And one of those weird bicycle cab guys offered me a free ride. I took the drink, but not the ride - god forbid he has a coronary or something trying to peddle me a couple of blocks to the nearest subway stop. But it's nice to know you can sometimes rely on the kindness of strangers.
And, let me tell you, at about 34 weeks, pregnancy really begins to suck.
I'm exhausted. My back is killing me to the point that I can't walk. I get dizzy when standing, sleepy when sitting. I'm hungry. I'm huge. I'm emotional. There are weird stabbing pains happening everywhere. I need assistance lifting myself from a sitting position. I wake several times during the night to go to the bathroom, and my eyes seem to mysteriously pop open each morning at 4 so that I can obsess over nothing until my alarm goes off at 7.
All this in preparation for an arrival that will leave me spent, sleepless and, more than likely, depressed, for about three to six months. As excited as I am to meet the little guy (and get him out of there), I don't know whether to be impatient or apprehensive.
HG has taken to getting up early and driving me all the way to work. It's wonderful, although I feel quite guilty - about his missing sleep as well as our paying a daily $6 tunnel fee. But the steps leading in and out of the subway have become ruthless! Now I know how my out of shape mother feels when she visits the city (Mommy, never again will I chastise you for having to stop and catch your breath repeatedly during the trip from the subway to our place, as annoying as it can sometimes be.)
These symptoms may only apply to me. I haven't had nausea or stretch marks or hemorrhoids, or countless other horrifying ailments that pregnant women can be subjected to. So you may not have an apple-sized knot in your lower back that throbs when you are standing up, or hammy feet that would cause even Fred Flintstone to take offense. But I can guarantee this: You will be surprised by how infrequently people offer to give up their seat on the train to a woman who plainly looks as if she is smuggling a medicine ball. I do feel bad when people have to give their seat up, especially women who are being kind while the lazy men sitting next to them won't even make eye contact with me. I have rerouted my commute so that I can get on an empty train, even if I have to wait for a few to go by, so that I don't have to bear the guilt of making someone else stand for a stop or two. Because when the train is packed and no one offers a seat to me, I get a little nuts. Ok, I panic. My eyes start to tear up, my knees get weaker and my legs slacken, as if my body were forcing me to crumble at the very injustice. It's not just because it's rude and cruel to let a clearly disabled person bob back and forth as the train jerks around, bumping into other passengers and risking a probable fainting spell, it's that standing hurts more than walking when you are pregnant - it hurts more than anything you can imagine, resting all of your bulk on these poor little swollen feet. I vow to never again selfishly stay in my seat if I see anyone worse off than me who could use it.
(It should be noted that people on the NJ PATH trains are much more considerate than people on the NYC subway. I hardly ever get a seat offered to me on the subway, but on the PATH it's pretty much a given. Who said only the strong survive in NJ?)
While pregnant, you will also learn that people are rude. You have no idea how rude until you have carried a child in your belly. I am shocked at the number and variety of men who make comments to me on the street. "That's a big baby." "Any day now." Or, the ever popular, "Twins!" About seven different strange men have told me I'm having twins during the past four months or so. Are these the same types of men who cat-call women? Or some different breed of chubby chaser? Not that I think they are hitting on me (although I'm sure there are men out there who believe that telling a women she looks like she's having twins is an appealing conversation starter), but what are they doing? Is it some form of Tourette Syndrome?
Also, you know when someone on the street bumps into you really hard because they can't bother to shift their body a mere two inches to the side to avoid it, and then they just casually keep walking? This happens even when you are pregnant. To New Yorkers, you will be just another fat lady in the way.
Worse are the people you know. For example, a friend's mother-in-law will not let me forget how huge I look. I would say she makes an average of eight comments on the size of my baby or belly each time I see her, give or take a few made exclusively to my husband. My friend carried differently than I am, didn't gain much, and had a 9 pound baby. So, by comparison, mother-in-law actually predicted my baby is going to be 24 pounds (though, to be fair, the next day she amended it to 16 pounds). Herr Guitar is astonished by this woman's behavior, because unlike her, he knows that a woman's size, shape and weight are sensitive subjects not to be cackled about in such a cavalier way. Sure, if something slipped out once, I could handle it. I can even handle the constant barrage, because there is little I can do about it and my only concern right now is having a healthy baby. In a few months, I may be fat and miserable and cursing the world. Right now I can only do what feels right. (Not that a 40E bra size feels right, but you get my point.)
On the positive side, a Starbucks worker gave me my venti iced decaf no-water americano for free last week. And one of those weird bicycle cab guys offered me a free ride. I took the drink, but not the ride - god forbid he has a coronary or something trying to peddle me a couple of blocks to the nearest subway stop. But it's nice to know you can sometimes rely on the kindness of strangers.
posted by j.m. at 11:07 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home