I am 30 weeks pregnant. I am very, very large (have already gained more than recommended for entire pregnancy), and so I feel like humpty-dumpty (except nobody tried to squeeze humpty into too-tight sweat pants, which would have put him into very poor mood, believe you me.). My back is in bad shape, so I waddle and limp. I itch. Everywhere. Can't treat it with the corticosteriods I normally can. I got rashes that even my OBGYN declined to see (Although, he was very helpful in treating the second degree burns I gave myself while making strawberry jam for my neighbors a couple weeks ago, when everybody told me fudginity wasn't a good idea). My feet and ankles like to swell up to twice their size and stay that way until I lie down for two days. I haven't had a haircut or color since May. I have acid reflux. I can't sleep, so I am up reading novels every morning from about 2-5. Plus, my hormones are all wacky, so I'm whiny (as you can see), mean as snot, and mildly depressed.
Does anybody else get this way during pregnancy? Cause normally, I have this special gift (I call it a tender mercy) that allows me to look in the mirror and see something better than the actual reflection. Remember how I like to think I'm medium foxy? Well, no more. Now, I have no delusions. I am the anti-fox.
The funny part is, it all goes away when I have the baby. Within a week of the birth, I am strutting about like a supermodel. Just a couple days after Sam was born (he was still in the NICU, which should have been depressing in itself)), I remember donning a pair of big, stretchy pants and going to Sunday dinner at my parents' house, thinking: I look GOOD. Who's going to notice this giant jello belly, when I got this fabulous rack (really, was a very nice, if temporary, rack, but I did NOT look good)? (And somehow, I weighed more leaving the hospital after Sam was born, than when I went in. How this occurred is mystery of the universe.) (As is my weird talent for beer-goggling myself. Without the beer.)*
Anyhow, you know all that stuff I just whined about? Multiply it by three (even the double decade weight gain), then ask me if I'd trade it back for all the nausea and the puking.
The answer is NO. No way. Big, itchy, tired, and mean is WAY better than sick.
(Oh. And about the post title. I have a thing for colloquial speech. I love me some slang, or even better, a new idiom. I collect them like one might stamps, or shoes, or snow globes. Whinge is an especially lovely verb because, to me, it sounds even a bit more onomatopoeic than its cousin, the whine. And if you you called someone a whinger, well, it sounds a little naughty. Not sure why.)
* If you attended the University of Arizona (or any other party school) like I did, you'd think this was hilarious.
So, do you feel down during pregnancy? Or after?
Do you itch? What kid of lotion do you use?
When you look in the mirror, is the reflection you see better or worse than, or exactly true to, life?