Top 10 Most Annoying Things Said to Expectant Parents

In no particular order:

1. It will change your life forever. (If they are too stupid to know this, they shouldn’t be having a baby.)

2. Sleep when the baby sleeps. (Every baby book says this. You need to think up better material if this is your best advice.)

3. Anything prefaced with “It was good enough in my day…” (Moms get VERY huffy about the changes in child-rearing since they raised their own children. They seem to take them as a personal insult.)

4. “You’re going to get the drugs, right?” (Followed by a polite “Oh” when you tell them you are, in fact, crazy enough to want to try natural childbirth.)

5. Retelling a friend’s horrific birth story to a first-time mother. (Why did the checker at HEB, a complete stranger by the way, think I wanted to know about her friend’s emergency C-section?)

6. “You’re not a Mommy yet!” (In response to the “Mommy and Me” shirt I wore at my baby shower. My uncle should try saying that to me after he lugs a baby around inside him for six months.)

7. “Say good-bye to a good night’s sleep.” (Oh, REALLY? Babies don’t sleep much? They wake up at night?? Why did no one tell me this???)

8. “Are you going to lock her up till she’s 30?” (Sexist humor never gets old.)

9. “I wonder if you’ll still be as crazy about your cats after the baby comes.” (Oh, yes, that’s an excellent trait for a parent. Ceasing to care about living creatures who depend on you after you get a new, more demanding one.)

10. “I know this isn’t what you registered for, but this worked so much better for me.” (Why don’t you just come right out and say that you think my carefully researched parenting decisions are stupid?)

Angry yoga??

In my previous post, I mentioned that someone had taken one of my props accidentally. (Namely, a bolster.) Oddly enough, my anger and annoyance over this discovery (Hey, I practice yoga, but I’m no saint. Especially when I’m nine months pregnant and it’s over 100 degrees outside.) helped me with the endurance exercises we do in class to simulate contractions and get us ready for labor. I think I’ve discovered a new branch to this ancient discipline!! Angry yoga! Who would have ever thought that anger might help with yoga?

Thank goodness for…

pregnancy hormones. I hunted up a picture of me with my maternal grandmother today. I want to take it to the hospital with me, because it always makes me feel good. Except for today, for some reason. I took one look at it and bawled for half an hour. I cannot believe it has been seventeen years this month since she died. I still miss her so much and I wish she could be here to meet my little boy.

Although the picture made me feel sad, I think I needed the catharsis. It’s always nice to feel true, genuine emotion, rather than the anxiety that plagues me some of the time. At least this sadness is based in reality and it comes from the fact that my grandmother and I loved each other so much.

Rain, rain, come this way

When I found out I was pregnant last November, I was prepared to endure the heat of June and the first half of July. I know what that’s usually like. It doesn’t really get bad on a consistent basis until the latter half of July and August, when the triple digit temps and humidity really kick in. Even in August, we don’t usually get triple digit temperatures everyday.

Of course, this year things are different. The temperatures jumped up in to the nineties for a few days in April. That’s when I started to get worried. When we started hitting triple digits in May, I just made up my mind to be positive and remember how lucky I am that the school year is over and I don’t have to go out in it that much.

However, June is rapidly coming to a close now, with the bulk of the days this month having reached the triple digits. Despite the fact that I grew up in Texas and am pretty tough when it comes to heat, I am getting fed up with it. Do you hear me, weather gods??? FED UP!!! We all need a break. If I knew how to do a rain dance, I would, but since I don’t, please, please, please just let it rain. Even a few days where the temperatures stayed in the nineties would be a lovely respite at this point.

They’re already conspiring against me…

My unborn son and my cats, I mean. Last night was not entirely pleasant. We had a doctor’s appointment at 7:30 a.m. today. My husband and I are NOT morning people, but we didn’t have a choice. We have to go every week now and it was the only slot available. Besides 7 a.m., that is. My husband doesn’t even get up for work that early.

Anyway, we got to bed late (I don’t even know when. We’re night owls, which is why we’re not morning people.) and I was sleeping poorly, partly because I’m nine months pregnant and partly because I knew I had to get up. I tossed and turned a bit, which woke my husband up as well, since it now takes at least three distinct motions for me to turn over in bed, all of which shake the bed. Plus, I have to rearrange my body pillows everytime I move, not to mention groan and say “Ow” everytime the baby’s feet poke me in the ribs or he presses on my bladder or I feel a round ligament pull because of the extremely full bladder I have the superhuman ability to ignore and still not wet myself, even at nine months pregnant.

My sweet husband was so incredibly kind during this whole ordeal, saying wonderful things like, “I’m sorry, honey” and “Are you ok?” instead of getting mad at me for disturbing his sleep. I sometimes suspect he knows how to say those things while still sleeping, but it is still very sweet. I’d rather I didn’t wake him up anyway. Finally, at 5:22 a.m., I woke up in extreme pain from a bladder in imminent danger of exploding and had to give up and go to the bathroom. I don’t know where all of that liquid came from, since I had exactly two sips of water before going to bed, but I have learned that, while pregnant, you cannot consume ANY liquids within several hours of going to bed, even if you relieve yourself multiple times before retiring. Also, I think the body rebels against the triple-digit temps in Texas by storing every single bit of liquid you take in until it feels safe to let them go at an ungodly hour of the morning.

Since I have the aforementioned superhuman ability to ignore nature’s call without disastrous consequences, my cats are not accustomed to seeing me get up at night. Usually, I do not get up until I absolutely have to in the morning, either because I have to work or because it is almost noon, but not quite, so I can still say I got up in the morning. When I get up, they get Fancy Feast. (Well, in the case of CC, she gets Whisker Lickin’s Chicken and Cheese treats, because she doesn’t like Fancy Feast.) It doesn’t matter what time it is. If I get up, it’s Fancy Feast time.  That’s another reason I have been resisting my bladder. However, at 5:22 a.m., I resist the cats. I got back in bed, extremely careful not to kick Fudgie, who always sleeps on my side of the foot of the bed. However, he and Earl Grey must have been irate at being misled about getting their Fancy Feast for they proceeded to run loudly, claws scrambling on hardwood floor, Fudgie meowing plaintively periodically, all over the house for the next hour, while I somewhat unsuccessfully tried to go back to sleep before my alarm went off. They finally stopped, only for me to hear Fudgie attempting to open a loose cabinet door a few minutes later. And failing. Over and over again. “Bang, bang, bang. MEOW!! Bang, bang, bang. MEOW!!” Then, he tried jumping on top of the TV set (Thank goodness we haven’t bought a flat-screen yet.), which is plastic and creaks. And meowed until my wonderful hubby chased him away. He finally gave up after that or I managed to tune him out.

Guess who was sleeping peacefully at the foot of the bed when I woke up at 7 a.m., hating my life? Oh, yes, Fudgie, who had kept me awake for having the audacity to get out of bed and not feed him. Did he and Earl Grey get Fancy Feast before we rushed out of the door for our appointment?  But, of course.

However, kick-ass pregnant female that I am, I actually managed to enjoy the morning with my equally kick-ass husband. (Although we get pretty stupid without sleep. I’m a little worried about our kid. And the people in our immediate vicinity for the next few months. Oh, well. We had fun.) I even, after a short nap (Cut short by little feet in my ribs, that is.), managed to run three errands in the unforgiving triple-digit heat. I rock, as does my life. And my noisy, demanding, adorable cats.

Pregnancy paradox

Tell me how to solve this one – how am I supposed to find a garment I love and feel comfortable in in which to give birth, which I am also supposed to feel comfortable with destroying???

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