Nine months is one month too many!!
Okay, I understand that creating human life is a beautiful and sacred thing, I get that it takes a long time to grow a human from an egg and a sperm. I get that the awesome power of birth is central to the most contentious political arguments in our culture.
However, I also can’t get off my couch anymore, or walk through the grocery store without availing myself of their bathroom. I can’t do anything without getting heartburn and my hips are letting me know what life at 110 is going to feel like. I understand that I should feel lucky to be a woman, and not an elephant, but really, nine months is one month too long!!
I am ready for pants that have zippers, the occasional beer, and a frickin pile of sushi! I am ready for lying flat on my back or stomach!
Why does our culture breed an expectation for an attitude of peaceful joy during pregnancy? I don’t feel calm, I feel impatient! I want to hold my baby, and get him out of me!! Most women I speak with sympathize with this sense of the final month taking for-frickin-ever, but we still have this image of the lovely pregnant woman peacefully eating her way through an entire chocolate cake and loving every crumbly minute. Where are the complaints? I don’t have gooey chocolate love, I have uncomfortable heartburny indulgence!! There is a foot permanently lodged in my stomach making chocolatey goodness my enemy!
Not to mention that I can no longer reach half my dishes, or half the stuff on grocery store shelves. Emptying a grocery cart is an acrobatic feat beyond my normal level of physical ability, and I can’t walk through any opening smaller than a banquet hall! I bump my ‘bump’ against everything that comes near it, and then moan because it’s extra sensitive to the touch!
Ugh. I feel like a huge mammoth beast, waddling towards my own self destruction. I don’t feel like a glowing serene woman on the verge of a miracle. I feel like a harried, tired, beached mammal trying desperately to feed and care for her current calf while preparing for the existence of another.