Warning - Pregnant Lady Bitching

When I found out I was pregnant a couple of months ago I made a promise to myself not to turn this blog into a pregnancy rant.  I mean, who wants to read that?  For leisure?  I have stuck to it. Until today.

Allow me to bitch.  

1.  I REALLY WANT A GLASS OF RED WINE OR A MARGARITA OR A CORONA.  HELL, I'D EVEN TAKE A SHOT OF JAGER AT THIS POINT. 

Look, I don't want to appear to be an alcoholic.  But as some of you long time blog readers will know, I really enjoy a glass of wine or two.  Not just for the nice relaxing buzz it gives, but also for the taste of it.  The feel of it.  The aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh you get after a long day and you finally get to sit down.  As far as beverages go, for me it's a staple.  

Fine, I get it, I'm pregnant, inx-nay on the wine.  But with this nice weather and vacation coming and walking past people sitting in sidewalk cafes having cocktails... I am getting a major hunkering for a margarita.  Or a nice cold beer.  Or something that indicates celebration and summer and adulthood and the chance to numb my stresses if only for a few minutes.  And the fact that I CAN'T have it, that I SHOULDN'T have it,  that it's PROHIBITED just makes me want it more in an almost frantic, psycho way.  

I know, I know, I know, I probably could have a small glass of wine here and there.  But there are two issues with that: 1) One small glass of wine may not cut it.  I may want more, which would just make the whole state of things all the more painful, and 2) Can someone please formally tell me it's okay?  Because there's this study that says it's fine, but then there's this study that says it's not. Then there's the strict OB that says no, and the laid back OB that says yes, and the women in France and the women of the 50s and my neighbor down the street.  Everyone's got an opinion, everyone's got a story, everyone's got a judgment.  

How about someone do us women a favor.  How about someone actually TAKE THE TIME to figure it out definitively, and then let us women know?  Because this whole attitude of, oh, we're not sure, it's probably fine, but just abstain, what's the big deal makes for a whole lot of grumpy pregnant women.  If we could all get together and have a glass of wine or two with no guilt, we'd probably be a little more chill.  

Disclosure - I had a four ounce glass of wine in Disney World.  It was fabulous.

2. OKAY, FINE.  I CAN'T DRINK ALCOHOL.  BUT WHAT ABOUT DELI MEAT OR SUSHI OR SMOKED SALMON OR SPROUTS FOR GOD'S SAKE?  

Noooooooooooooooo, you cannot.  Sure, the chances of contracting listeria or some other random food poisoning I've never gotten before are slim to none.  Nonetheless, we must abstain! Never mind that other countries advise that such foods are fine for pregnant women.  Here in America, we decline.  We take no chances.  We are martyrs!  Patriots!

Disclosure - In the past week, I have eaten smoked salmon and prosciutto.  Sushi is next on my list.

3. IF AT 14 WEEKS THE BABY IS LYING "ABOVE MY PUBIC BONE," THEN WHY THE HELL IS MY ENTIRE STOMACH PROTRUDING OUTWARD AS IF I'M ABOUT TO GIVE BIRTH?

Everyone always says you show more with subsequent pregnancies.  But this is out of control.  

I wore a sundress last night to a park to meet my friends.  Granted, you always look bigger than you are when you wear a dress, but the comments I got were along the lines of: Oh my God!!!! Yeah, I'm officially large and pregnant, at 14 weeks.  I actually considered posting a picture of my stomach on here, but thankfully I am resisting (too bad I can't have that glass of wine mentioned above - then maybe things would be different).  I still have some dignity.  

If it's not the baby making me look 6 months pregnant (remember, the baby, according to Baby Center is "above my pubic bone") then what is it?  Gas?  Pure fat?  Loose muscle/skin that will never regain its form?  Whatever the answer, it's gross.  And it doesn't bode well for my post partum body, which I have vowed to get in shape with the help of a personal trainer and a strict diet (ha!).  

I am at the point where I refuse to weigh myself.  I am just too damn scared.

4. HOW IS IT EVEN POSSIBLE THAT I HAVE TO PEE 8 MINUTES AFTER I JUST WENT?  AND WHY DOES THIS ONLY HAPPEN AFTER 9PM?

Last night I got into bed exhausted.  All I wanted to do was get comfy, cuddle up, and fall asleep to an episode of the Wire.  I did all my pre-bed duties - brush teeth, take vitamins, wash face, and ultimately, do my final pee of the night.  

But it wasn't my final pee of the night.  About 8 minutes after I got in bed, I had that feeling.  So I went again.  And again.  And again.  Four times in the span of a 55 minute Wire episode, which ultimately kept me awake and unable to fall asleep.  It got to the point where I felt like I was in a race against time.  If I didn't fall asleep within 15 minutes, you can be sure I'd have to get up to pee again, which would only re energize me and restart the clock to get to sleep before the next urge. Ultimately, I succumbed, but then of course there was the 2am pee, the 4am pee, and the 6am pee.  

Thankfully this is only happening at night, but I know it will get worse.  Towards the end of my last pregnancy, it got to the point where my own father suggested I wear Depends so I wouldn't have to bother myself with so many bathroom breaks while out on child-related excursions.

I declined.  The whole dignity thing, you know.  But in a weird way, it kind of made sense.  

5. CAN YOU PLEASE STOP POKING AT ME WITH A NEEDLE AND ACTING LIKE IT'S NO BIG DEAL BECAUSE I REALLY FREAKING HATE IT.  

So I'm pregnant and I go to the doctor a lot.  But I had forgotten how much they STICK A NEEDLE IN YOU LIKE IT'S NOTHING.  

It seems like every time I am going to the OB (which is often, and will only increase) they are putting me in some form of major discomfort.  At my first appointment there was a ridiculously massive blood draw where they fill up like 6 of those vials.  Out of convenience, I go to the lab of the hospital where I will deliver, where a very unfriendly, clearly disgruntled nurse/worker/temp drags me in the back, wraps a sticky rubber band around my arm before I can even get in Can we just wait a mi-...., and then takes all of her day's frustration out on the poor vein running on my forearm.  Once she is done, she slaps on a fist full of gauze followed by a piece of what appears to be duct tape, and I am pulled out of the chair before I can even ask, Do you have any jui-...

But I suppose that's better than the blood draw for the nuchal test, which involves a finger prick. Have you had your finger pricked lately?  IT HURTS LIKE BLOODY HELL.  The sting, my God, the sting!  And then after they swiftly sting you they take your finger and wring it and knead it and SQUEEZE THE BLOOD OUT OF IT onto a piece of paper with small circles where they get this weird glee out of getting it right in the lines.  Ow.  Just ow.  

But even all of this is not as bad as the glucose test, which I will endure next month.  On that day I will have to guzzle a ridiculous amount of some fake orange toothpaste tasting liquid.  After sitting there letting this sumptuous liquid sit like a lead balloon in my stomach, I will then get to endure yet another massive blood draw (see above).  

And then there's the fact that I have to at some point get this baby out of my body, which will not be comfortable in the least.  But that's a bitch session for another day.

Okay, I'm done.