My Pregnancy Promise

I will not post pictures of my fat bare belly.
I will not be offended if you think my sonogram looks like a blob of spit.
I will not ask you (unless you are my husband) to come feel the baby kick. 
I will not turn you down if you actually want to touch my belly. I will think you are a weirdo for it, but I kind of like belly rubs.
I will not tell you details of the birthing process unless you really want to know.
I will use pregnancy as an excuse to be lazy when I can. Wouldn’t you?
I most definitely will gush about how cute my newborn is even though you probably think it looks like a shriveled red faced old man.
I will be offended if you tell me my baby looks like a shriveled red faced old man.

 

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Yep. I’m pregnant.

Yes friends, the rumors are true. I’m pregnant, and I’m not going to lie; it’s gross.
 
I’ll confess that I’ve always thought pregnant people were gross. I see one of those fat bellies waddling toward me, I look away. Pregnant people are gaseous and constantly stuffing their faces and making jokes about how much they have to pee, and they are not people I’ve ever wanted to hang out with. Before I became pregnant, I thought that when this happened to me, at least it would feel natural and right, but it doesn’t.  
 
Now that I am one of those gross women, I realize that it is so much worse than I ever thought. It feels like I am constantly hung over, but without having had the fun of drinking. On top of the periodic headaches and vomiting about twice a day, I am also more susceptible to illnesses, so I am currently dealing with my second cold of the first trimester.  
 
A few nights ago, after waking at 3 a.m. struggling to breath because I was having an asthma attack, I longed for the days when I could walk into my parents bedroom and have my mom tell me I can stay home from school and she’d make me mashed potatoes in the morning. Instead, I took my inhaler and made some hot tea. Then I promptly threw it up and wet my pants at the same time.  Did I mention pregnancy is gross?
 
I went back to bed and realized that my child will probably be doomed to the same sicknesses I had as a child: asthma, pneumonia, cold sores, and so on. My mother was so good at taking care of me when I was sick. I hate being around sick people. Will I be able to take care of my own sick child?
 
 
I wondered if there is a such thing as pre-partum depression. Because at that moment, I was finding nothing to be happy about. Still unable to fall asleep next to my snoring husband and pug dog, I got up and did laundry then washed some dishes. (Housework only happens periodically these days.)
 
I  realized it was time to get up and go to work. Well, at least it’s a cold and rainy day, I sighed. 
 
Then something strange happened. By the time I got to work, I felt better. Must be the hormones. This time, when someone at work told me Congratulations, l didn’t have to pretend to be happy. I actually was. 
 
Those moments have been fleeting though, I must admit. But As this first trimester winds down, I’m starting to have more good days then bad. The vomiting is happening less and less, and it is starting to hit me that the parasite inside me is a real person and maybe I’m not going to be such a bad parent. After all, I’ve gotten really good at cleaning up pee and vomit.