Confessions of a Pregnant Woman

My husband and I have been married for 3 years, and for the first time we have an answer to the annoying, and seemingly incessantly asked question by our peers, parents, friends and students.  "When are you going to have kids?"  Surprising in the first year of marriage, annoying in the second, hurtful in the third after 9 months of hoping for conception.  But we now have an answer.  April.  We will have a kid in April!
Now, to get past all of the nagging questions about whether we prefer a girl or a boy...  While sure, one gender may be a little less intimidating than the other, why waste time hoping either way?  We have a 50/50 chance, and setting ourselves up for any kind of disappointment seems silly.  Do not talk to me about Chinese fertility calendars, threaded needles, what position the child was conceived in, etc.  (And that last part is none of your concern.)  I will bypass the ridiculous tests and quizzes.  I do not want to pee on Drano crystals.  I'll find out the "old fashioned way," (maybe not so much...) and just wait for the sonogram.

Already in month 2, I've had the thought many times, I thought this should have been easier.  Amazing that something the size of a poppy seed, (half a pea, pinto bean, cherry) can so forcefully change the way you do life.  Routine no longer agrees with my body, as it seems to demand things NOW!  Otherwise, I pay for it later, bowing before the porcelain throne.  I have an alarm set for 2am so that I can eat, in hopes that I will wake sans the compulsion to cradle my "puke bucket."

Nothing is the same.  Heaven knows mornings are not the same.  Church is not the same.  Sex is not the same.  House cleaning...  God, please forgive me for making my husband live in a pig stye.  Cleaning requires standing.  Standing causes nausea.  Not even sleep is the same, which seems kind of silly, considering there are no outward bodily changes.  It's not lack of physical comfort that causes my nights to be weird.  It is the dreams.  I have always had weird dreams, but never before have I had such strange dreams about food.  I've dreamed in detail about a deliciously iced, pink-and-white marbled peanut butter cupcake made by a friend.  My friend told me I could have one, but that I had to buy any additional cupcakes I wished to consume, about which I was completely dismayed.  (The cupcake never happened, but it should.)  I dreamed that I threw a stomping, fist-banging fit in a restaurant because my order was not taken soon enough, and I was pregnant and starving.  I've dreamed that rather than serving wafers and grape juice for communion, our pastor decided that we would have a buffet, (a la Golden Corral.)  Not only was a buffet moved to the front of the sanctuary, but our pews were modified with railing to slide our trays, in order that the guests could eat and listen to the sermon simultaneously.  Strange, strange, strange...

My husband swears I am crazy, although I feel the same way about him.  Is it possible that the husband can be hormonal and irritated?  Because I assure you, it's not me.

But as I write all of this out, it is far easier to feel hopeful about it, because this all just sounds like the hormonally-crazed rantings of a pregnant woman.  And that is kind of comical, because I was somehow convinced that I was above it.  Guess not.

Please bear with me as I am somewhat antisocial.  I am taking a break from the general public beyond my necessary duties of work and volunteering.  It's not you, it's me.  It's all me and this little cherry sized alien inside me.  And by all means, if you do see me, do not ask me how I feel.  I'd rather not think about it.  If I feel good, I'll let you know.  Otherwise it's safe to assume I wish I had my puke bucket.