J and I spent the majority of this weekend fighting. I will say 2 things about this straight off:
- Yes, I can feel that I am insane and that I overreact to everything right now. Hello, I’m pregnant.
- J fails at understanding how to deal with pregnant women… ok, maybe that’s too harsh. I’d say that 50% of the time he’s alright at it (although a few more moments of praise and massages without the occasional slap or tickle would be nice…), but when he forgets to zip it all hell breaks loose.
Basically, it’s a bad combo. As this pregnancy is winding down, and by winding down I mean kicking into full gear, the situation could risk getting explosive. I’d love to say that I can keep things in perspective, but I really can’t. The sight of my feet is enough to bring me to tears. My new stretch marks make me want to scream. I haven’t slept properly in at least 2 months, which I’m sure also plays a factor. Those books that claim to be tell-all guides to pregnancy are so full of crap, because let me tell you, I could write at least 200 pages discussing little documented pregnancy facts that would make any woman declare her lady bits a sperm free zone. But I won’t do that… or maybe I will. Maybe that’s the solution to our population problem… hmmm. It will just never get published because it will be full of profanity and will discuss parts of the body that most people are uncomfortable with.
So, given my discomfort, try to understand this one:
J and I were fighting about the dog who, in her puppiest of puppy moments, decided to chew a two foot long hole in the hot tub cover last weekend. Yes, that sucks, but it does not make her the devil. She hasn’t chewed one thing in the house and is really very angelic for the most part. Besides, the thing still works. The tub hasn’t dropped a single degree, and its been patched with duct tape, the cure for all ills.
As always these days, I burst into tears and just couldn’t contain myself. I was crying like there was no tomorrow. I couldn’t breathe I was crying so hard. J, in his ever so gentle manner, decided this would be a great time to tell me that my hormones were putting him through hell and that we wouldn’t be having any more kids because he couldn’t handle going through it again.
Ever melodramatic, I took this very seriously (and although it was said seriously, it was said in the heat of the moment and most pregnant couples have a few of these moments I have learned) and imagined my poor lone child playing alone in his room, talking to himself well past the age where that’s normal, and somehow developing a multiple personality disorder. I’m a highly sensitive person at the best of times, which I used to think made me crazy. Just imagine how being pregnant has amplified this.
In a more lucid moment I might have shouted out “AMEN”! If he thinks dealing with my hormones is hell, he has no idea how hot the fires of hell really burn. I’d love to see how he’d handle pregnancy and all it has to offer. I have to deal with those same hormones and feeling out of control a lot of the time. Add that to the slew of unmentionable physical ailments I will write about in my tell-all pregnancy book (being rejected soon at a publisher near you!), how could I not agree? Why would anyone ever want to have more than one kid? I’ll give you the answer to that one in a few weeks when I’m holding my baby boy in my arms and wondering how its possible to love anything so much.
Besides, so long as J manages to stick by me through the labour (without fainting) we’ll all be so high on oxytocin by the end of it that we’ll forget all about the pain and my looney toons moments. Ah science.