The halfway mark in this pregnancy has been branded by an increased level of over-emotionality. I have always been an overly emotional person who cries super easily and I have spent a painful amount of time mastering my temper and aggressive anger issues. Pregnancy hormones just seem to escalate these emotions from already inappropriate levels to just really ridiculous new heights.
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At week 18, I cried when the eye doctor?s office wouldn?t validate my $3 parking after making me wait over an hour and a half to see my cornea specialist for all of seven minutes. The crying increased on the way home when I processed the irony of chronic dry eyes in a compulsive crier and what the doctor said, that my eyes are not getting better despite duct plugs and spending outrageous amounts on eye drops (do not believe the commercials ? Restasis is a big crock of crap that can take up to a year and over $1,500 before your eyes actually start producing more moisture).
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At week 19, the check engine light went on in the car and an episode involving five garages, two parts? shops, a run in with an Armenian mechanic that involved paper-tearing, a trip to the dealer, and $700, moved me from every other day tears to daily outbreaks and hourly episodes of random leakage.
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Week 20 marked the official halfway point and the clear realization that I do not look pregnant. I look like I have a 15 pound muffin top. I assumed that starting this pregnancy a good 50+ pounds below what I started my last pregnancy would mean I would get to be that person with a pregnant belly ? not just that overweight lady that might be pregnant but we shouldn?t ask because we really can?t be sure and it would be super uncomfortable to have asked and then her not be pregnant. I?m that lady but I am pregnant. On a good day I just look like I made a bad choice in t-shirt. On a bad day I look like I?m one ring short of a baby Rock-a-Stack.
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Which brings us to week 21: the genitalia ultrasound. In an extremely unusual act of selflessness, I gave into Henric?s wishes to find out the sex of the baby. I love surprises. I think surprises rock. I think this is like the ultimate surprise. One of the few really great ones in life. We did not find out with Anabelle and I thought it was awesome. Apparently, though, some post-baby-pop-out delivery room confusion led to Henric feeling?uncomfortable and with us already planning a home birth, he wanted this one thing determined beforehand.?For some reason I gave in.
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It?s a boy. And I pride myself on the fact that I waited until the ultrasound technician left the room before I started crying.
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All those beautiful little dresses he?ll never get to wear. All the pigtails that won?t waggle and the braids that won?t be braided. And the ruined surprise! If we had waited, I would be on a full-on post-labor endorphin high and be super excited about whatever came out just because of the fact that it came out. Now I have to spend the next 20 weeks pumping myself up over trains, race cars and no more hair combing wars.
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Today marks week 22 and we?re all used to the idea and getting excited about our baby boy. (Insert yay!?s and happy emotions here!!! ). The tears have, for the most part, stopped and the new name lists have begun. After compromising on the surprise aspect, though, I?ve decided that?s enough compromise for this pregnancy and will be returning to my normal level of selfish indulgence in the coming months. In particular, cleaning the house has begun to interfere with my running energy levels so I think I?ll start compromising on that?
Source: http://www.genuinegoss.com/?p=1071
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