I’m only going to say this once…

Long story short: My self-deprecating commentary and sarcastic references to the changes my body is undergoing, possibly appearing as “complaints”, or those remarks perceived as blatant vanity should not be mistaken for complaints, vanity, or otherwise ungratefulness or complacency of being with child(ren). 

I remember, in the 14 months we were on the journey to conceive (and the 3 years prior to that that we began talking and planning for conception), that I would come across posts or blogs of women who would talk about feeling fat or being in pain or wanting the baby out near 40 weeks.  And I remember thinking “Biotch doesn’t know what she’s got.  At least she’s pregnantI’ll never talk that way when I’m pregnant.” 

But the fact is, my sense of humor is warped and I am sarcastic to the bone, always have been.  Just ask my mother.  Like the time she had to ground me for smarting off, but the only thing she could ground me from was from GOING TO MY CHURCH YOUTH GROUP. 

In reality, I live by the guidelines provided in Dr. Barbara Luke’s book: When You Are Expecting Twins, Triplets, or Quads: Proven Guidelines for a Healthy Multiple Pregnancy.  And as such, I purposefully gain the requisite amount of weight (according to my height, pre-conception weight, and BMI) for each gestational week, balancing all the carbs and fats and proteins and such, over a minimum of 5-6 meals per day – precisely for the intention of not going into premature labor.  I have given up exercise when I had a subchorionic bleed.  I don’t do the heavy yard work anymore.  I drink a minimum of 90 – that’s NINETY – ounces of water per day.  Consequently, I get up to go to the bathroom up to 16 times per day.  I significantly reduced the non-profit volunteer activities I participated in so that I would have more time to let my body rest.  I obey the suggestions of my OB and my perinatologist.  And I have given up sushi, which, quite honestly, has been the hardest thing, like, EVER. 

The truth is, one cannot imagine the sleepless nights, the tears shed alone, or on the shoulder of the Beloved, the unabated concern for the health and well-being of our children that I have at any given moment.  Just this morning, as I was getting ready for work, I got all pensive and asked the Beloved: “Do you think they’re still in there?  Tell me they’re o.k.”  My emotions were so raw that the Beloved offered to call the doctor and see if we could move our appointment up to assuage my concerns. 

It is a daily struggle to make sure the sheer joy of being pregnant is not outweighed by the fears and concerns that swim through my head, or those that I read about.  So to this end, I do two things, among others.  One: I laugh.  I laugh at myself.  I poke fun at myself and my body.  It keeps the joy on top of the fear, like oil sits over water.  It may seem counterintuitive to some, but it completely works for me.  Two: I no longer read the chatboard whose posts were once a lifeline for me in our journey to conceive.  It is one of the best things I have done for my mental health.  I’m not playing ostrich and pretending there aren’t complications and potential tragedies that can occur, it’s just that it is imperative that I limit my exposure to unnecessary stress by perusing an area where, statistically, there are likely to be more struggles. 

Along that same vein, of modifying exposures and taking care of one’s self, maybe my blog is not for everyone.  Sensitivities run high and rampant when one is trying to conceive – been there.  And I never imagined they would run even higher when pregnant – now I know. I mean, shit, I’m writing this post!

Not a day goes by that I am not grateful for the miracles growing inside of me. 

Not a day goes by that I don’t pray for those struggling to conceive.   

I am doing all the right things, or at least the right things that I know about.  But when your body becomes Not-Your-Own after 33 years, when your lifestyle takes a 180 degree turn, it is understandable that one might need to chat about those experiences.  Releasing this stress and tension is far more important than keeping it in and leaving it for our children to filter through.  I can see this now, being on the other side, looking back at those pregnant women I vowed to be unlike.  The need is there just like it was there to chat about the part of trying to conceive. 

I’m just glad I can and do communicate, unlike the hold-everything-in person I was in my adolescent years.  It is completely healthy to talk about the changes, however foreign, exciting, scary, or uncomfortable they may be.  And my venue is my blog. 

I just do it with a little extra piss and vinegar.