Here’s where I start whining about pregnancy.
Just kidding. I’ve been doing that since February.
It’s hot, yo. Like, 110 degrees in the shade hot. This is coming from someone who has endured many a humid-beyond-imagination Florida summer. Oklahoma heat is deceiving in that you might think you can handle triple-digit temps in the middle of the day–you might even actually attempt it–but you cannot. (Whereas in Florida you walk outside, and immediately no. Just, no.)
I ache from my toes right up to my eyeballs. I am active in short, concentrated bursts, and usually only between the hourse of 7:00 and 9:00 p.m.–after the air has cooled down to a tolerable 90 degrees, but before I’m too exhausted to keep my eyes open.
I haven’t even been outside today and I am literally sweating to death. I feel like my entire body is deflated of an essential life force energy. I guzzle ice water constantly during my waking hours, and I live in a perpetual state of having to pee so bad that I’m highly likely to murder anyone who stands between me and the potty.
The need for 3.1 million bathroom breaks per day is also sending my uterus into a raging hissy fit every 5 minutes. Braxton Hicks contractions might not be considered painful, but they’re enough to make me stop what I’m doing–which is usually half-sitting, half-lying on the couch in a pitiful pool of my own slobber–and focus on breathing techniques designed to get oneself through more epic labor pains.
Breathing is insanely difficult at this point. My unborn child is like a wild, ravenous beast and I’m taking hard hits to vital organs on an semi-hourly basis. I’m a breathless, belching hot mess who cries over every. little. thing. So don’t bring up movie moments like “Harry and the Hendersons”, where George screams at a confused Big Foot right before punching him in the face in an effort to save his life. It’s just so touching you guys.
Gestational diabetes has brought an additional level of hell to this pregnancy. I won’t even get into it, because there’s something way too unjust in my inability to seek comfort in a tub of ice cream during the only time in a woman’s life where it might be remotely acceptable to do such a thing.
My blood sugar is always funky low whenever I least need it to be, like when I’m teaching 3-year-olds or driving a car.
Please believe me when I say I have never felt this horrible during a pregnancy before in my life; I am usually so energized and breezy and light-hearted when I’m giant with child, true story no lie. I have every symptom in the book, plus fun bonuses like dizziness and tingling and random heart popping, and a fatigue unknown to mankind until this day.
Know what else? I’d kind of like to see both Planet of the Apes movies, for fun, plus eat an oreo cookie. Just one oreo cookie. There’s a ton of gray hair on my head and I’m too tired to do anything about it–anything meaning, making a phone call to book an appointment. Also? I’m rocking the 2-weeks-overdue waddle, and typing on a computer is a surprisingly draining activity.
Toni out, right after I insert random pictures from this past week.