I’m 39 weeks today, & I’ve reached that point in my pregnancy where I just feel like I am in a permanently irritable state. Y’know the one? It’s that point where that fully full term preggo monster takes over your mind, & it turns everything that never used to bother you into entirely bothersome things.
It’s about this time that I usually warn all of my loved ones that I really do still love them, but that the majority of things they might do from here on in until around the time that I give birth will most likely piss me off. And it really isn’t them, it’s me. I don’t know what hormone takes over my body at this point in both of my pregnancies, but she’s a doozy, & a complete bitch.
That Facebook friend o’ mine who doesn’t mind posting quite obviously attention seeking/cryptic status updates on an almost daily basis is someone who I just used to eye roll at, consider deleting, & then opt for a ‘live & let live’ approach to said updates in the past is now suddenly teetering dangerously close to my deleting them.
Those well meaning strangers who approach me in supermarkets and touch my fully pregnant stomach? And they just continue to rub all around it like it’s some kind of Buddha or something, & is about to perhaps give them 75 years of good luck or something?! And the longer they rub, the more hairs on my body that seem to stand on end. And I’m internally blowing steam, but externally I’m still too polite to say ‘get your flipping hands OFF my flipping body immediately!’. And y’know, it’s actually not even funny, & I shouldn’t even joke about it because in all seriousness … you just don’t know someone’s story. And if you knew mine, you’d know why I don’t like your uninvited hands on my body. And so while you might think you’re basking in a little bit o’ baby lovin’, I’m literally gritting my teeth wishing for the whole ordeal to just be over, & sending telepathic messages for you to get your filthy mitts off of me.
While we’re on the topic of ‘the bump’, please don’t look so shocked (& then proceed to comment on) how big it is. You were 39 weeks pregnant at one point in your life too sweetheart, & so you should know this is just simply what a nearly fully baked baby does to her preggo Mama’s tummy. No, I’m not having twins. Yes, we’ve had a growth scan. No, I’m not going to tell you the results of said growth scan. Yes, my first born was 9 lbs 4 oz. No, I’m not ashamed of this (actually, I’m proud & really do love my chubba bubbas). Yes, my husband is an incredibly tall man, & so yes … it seems I’m somewhat genetically predisposed to grow big babies for the rest of my baby makin’ days.
That unemployed friend who (obviously) doesn’t work, & doesn’t have children, & so therefore struggles (really struggles) to have any idea of what ‘busy’ really even is whenever you try to explain to her why you weren’t able to reply to the daily ‘hey. How’s it going?’ messages she pumps you with. I tried (really tried) to be polite & respond with ‘good thanks, how are you?’ as frequently as I could manage, but what with her being unemployed & without any (dare I say it) responsibilities in life, well … she just keeps replying. And so now I just have to ignore the daily how’s-it-going’s because I can’t help but get the impression that I’m just a silly little source of entertainment in an otherwise unproductive life, while she on the other hand is a constantly irritating disruption to my parenting day.
The couch. Oh my lord, our couch! It was obviously designed by someone who has never been 39 weeks pregnant, & so it has this incline that can literally trap a preggo Mama within its deathly clutches. And it’s at this point in my pregnancies that I truly do loathe our couch & that stupid poorly designed incline.
Yes, I’ve been known to swear at it too.
The unwanted advice. The so much unwanted advice. Please, just please don’t tell me about all of the sleep I’m about to be deprived of, or the whole new level of chaos that is apparently about to consume my life, or the fact that I will ‘soon realise how easy I’ve had it as Mother to just one child’ (I especially hate that), or how I’ll never get a minute to myself for the rest of my natural life, because if all of it is true … can I perhaps just learn this for myself (just like you did)?
So there you have it folks. It appears that every nice’ish aspect of my usually nice’ish personality seems to all but disappear at the tail end of pregnancy, only to seemingly be replaced by this irritable, intolerant, snarky mole, really.
And I do very regularly apologise to Dave for these irritable, intolerant, snarky mole moments, but because he’s this permanently upbeat, positive freak he just says, ‘all good Chezzy. You’ll be back’. Like I’m gone, or something?!?!
And that pisses me off too ;)