This past weekend, I was showered with love and gifts by my sisters and aunt and cousin and close friends, and it was beautiful.  I had the greatest time.  As it turns out, I really like having parties thrown in my honor (or my unborn child’s honor, same thing).  To have everyone I love come together to celebrate ME (*sigh* the baby), it was just awesome.

So, I was riding this great gift high (seriously, opening presents should be a form of therapy, it’s the best thing ever), minding my own business, getting ready for my day of doctors appointments yesterday.  Being almost 9 months pregnant, I’ve gotten pretty used to doctors appointments, and up until Tuesday, they’ve been fairly routine.  So imagine my surprise when, in the course of one day and 2 doctors appointments, I discover that: I have to retake my glucose test, because I may have gestational diabetes; the sudden and pretty gnarly swelling in my feet and hands isn’t exactly normal and can in fact be a sign of preeclampsia (not a good thing to have); and my lovely, beautiful, perfect child is already getting too big for her britches, and weighs in at a pretty hefty 5 lbs (seems small, I know, except when you consider that I have almost 2 months left to go, and she’ll gain the majority of her weight from here on out).  Not a good day for Mommy.

What does all this mean, exactly?  Not as bad as it initially sounded, let me assure you.  I have to retake my glucose test, which aside from being gross tasting, is not that big a deal.  I’ve already taken the necessary steps to change my diet to a more diabetes friendly one, as a preemptive strike.  Should I fail my test and actually have gestational diabetes, still not the end of the world–I keep my overhauled diet, check my blood sugar 4 times a day, and curse every single piece of cake I ate during my pregnancy.  For the preeclampsia, I have to collect my pee for 24 hours, store it in my refrigerator, then take it to the lab on Friday morning and get my blood drawn.  My poor husband has to look at a container of my pee in the fridge for 24 hours.  It’s his least favorite preggo thing so far.  I don’t have any of the other signs so far, so this is really just precautionary.  And as for my giant baby?  Eh, we watch her size, check it with another ultrasound in a few weeks, and I have a c-section.  Not the end of the world, by a long shot.  She’s totally healthy, and clearly hearty.  She’s all good.

I feel like a schmuck, because this whole time, I’ve been cruising along, marveling at my normal pregnancy.  Then BAM! not so normal.  I’ve learned my lesson, that’s for sure.  I took my healthy pregnancy for granted, and in return, my healthy pregnancy flipped me the bird and headed for the hills.  From here on out, and any pregnancies hereafter, it’s all about me being healthy, and in turn, my baby being healthy.  And here I thought the worst I had to worry about was heartburn.  Which, by the way, is worse than ever.  Yippee.

You know those women, the ones who say they loved being pregnant, it was so magical and beautiful and easy, and they never felt better?  I hate those women.  And for the record, they’re lying through their perfect little teeth. 

Don’t get me wrong, almost every time the baby moves or wiggles or gets the hiccups my heart stops and I almost cry at the sheer amazement of what’s going on (I say almost because she’s getting bigger, and it’s starting to move past uncomfortable into painful territory), but there is very little about pregnancy that is fun.  Or beautiful.  And NOTHING about it is easy.  When it gets to the point that you need assistance putting on your shoes, then easy has left the building.

And I’ve been very, VERY fortunate in my pregnancy.  Aside from some uncomfortability and a few minor issues (heartburn, I’m talking to you), I don’t have much to complain about.  But it’s still not easy.  Carrying around a human being inside of you is not intended to be easy.  As much as I appreciate the importance of what I’m able to do, I am quite ready for it to be over, and for the next phase to begin.  Everyone says, “Oh, but this is the easy part, just wait till you’re up all night with a crying baby, blah blah blah”.  The up-all-night I can do (last full nights sleep: don’t even remember).  And while I realize that having a baby and being a parent is the hardest job in the world, at least I’ll be able to put on my own damn shoes.

So, to the women I mentioned in the beginning of this post, please stop.  No one actually believes you, and it makes us dislike you.  Immensely.  Just own your ugly preggo stories.  Just think, one day you’re going to have to use those stories to guilt your kid into doing something for you.  You may as well start perfecting your “woe is me” face now.

I have a new pet peeve/annoyance/reason to want to hit complete strangers.  I’m not sure what this says about me as a person, but I’ve never wanted to punch complete strangers in the face as much as I do now that I’m pregnant.  Allow me to explain…

I am almost 8 months pregnant, if you can believe it.  Therefore, I have a rather large, rotund belly in which my baby resides.  I could be wrong, but I feel like I’m about on track, size-wise.  I don’t feel like I’m gargantuan compared the other women in their 8th month.  Now, that’s not counting the really annoying skinny little bitches who even at 8 months pregnant look like they had a big sandwich, but that’s for another blog.  What I mean is, I don’t feel like I am abnormally big for how far along I am.  I, apparently, am the only one who feels that way.

I cannot tell you how many times a day someone asks me how far along I am, or when the baby is due, or how much longer I have to go.  And it never fails, the moment I tell them, they get this look on their face that’s a cross between horror and pity.  Like they half expect me to say I was due 3 weeks ago and I’m just waiting for the baby to walk out on her own. 

Now, I’ve seen plenty of pregnant women, and like I said, I’m pretty normal in comparison.  I’m not sure why people feel the need to insinuate that I’ve crossed over into sideshow status.  When did it become acceptable for strangers to comment on your size, pregnant or not?  I would never make a face when a fat lady told me how much she weighed (not to her face anyway).  I don’t know why the social norms are different if you’re pregnant.  And of course I’m a thousand times more sensitive because of all the stupid hormones, so I totally take every widened eye personally.  I wonder what one of these rude jerks would do if I just started crying when they gasped and put their hand over their heart.  Actually, that sounds like it might be kind of fun. 

I guess I shouldn’t take it too personal, since most people really don’t mean any harm.  Maybe they really just don’t realize how big a women who is about to give birth can be.  I should use this time to develop a thick skin for when after the baby is born.  Because if I’m not careful, and I don’t prepare myself, I may end up in jail after the first time some a**hole asks me how far along I am, after I’ve already given birth.  That’s not a good example to set for my daughter, and I don’t know that they allow you to pump in county lockup.