Dear Last Weeks of Pregnancy,
I’m not a particularly chatty person. A woman of few words, I guess. So, I’m gonna go ahead and get right to the point.
I hate you.
My dad has always said, “Don’t say hate. Hate is such a strong word.” But, what about those times when the word “hate” just can’t get no righter (get off my back, grammar nazis)? I don’t like carrots. I dislike Richard Dreyfus as an actor (and probably as a human-his face, his voice, his overall persona, GROSS). But, I hate bees (you can get off my back, too, you weirdo bee lovers). I hate the sound of our beagle mutt barking at “dangerous predators” like butterflies and falling leaves. And I HATE the last weeks of pregnancy.
Oh, late third trimester. How do loathe thee? Let me count the ways…
1) Your “Braxton Hicks” are “evil” and “painful” and “going to be the death of me.” I truly cannot abide another piece of fiction that suggests Braxton Hicks contractions are more “uncomfortable” than “painful”. Because, guess what. You are a “liar” and your shizz “hurts”. And, hey. You physically assault me all day and night from week 28, or so, on. Have you not met your quota? Is it not possible for me to get a small break from your onslaught say, I don’t know, when I pee? It’s bad enough I have to pee every five seconds but have you ever tried to empty your bladder in the middle of a contraction?! IMPOSSIBLE. AND EVIL. I HATE YOU.
2) I’m in an ice bath and I’m sweating. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I get that it’s July and this area is essentially hell’s sweaty underwear but who else is sweating sitting mostly naked directly in front of a fan in an air conditioned house (set at SEVENTY-TWO) not moving or doing anything remotely physical at all?! Me and the other women due this summer. That’s who. And listen close. We hate you.
3) You are full of lies, tricks and deceit.
“Hey! You’re totally in labor! Freak yourself out and call your mom and pack your bags!
Jk, jk. Sit down. You’re totally not in labor.” LIES.
“Uh oh. Have you felt the baby move? You don’t remember? Well, aside from being a negligent mother for not counting kicks, your baby is in grave danger.
She’s huge and has no room and is sleeping. And sorry about the heart attack I just gave you. (But, not really.)” EVIL.
“No, totally! You can absolutely handle taking your other kids to the mall! Your body and mind are more than equipped to deal with the extreme heat, large crowds, screaming children and excessive walking!
Your pelvic floor feels like shattered glass, now, huh? Hahahaha.” I HATE YOU.
There is a well of other reasons why I hate you, last weeks of pregnancy, but allow me this opportunity to use what little filter I have left and keep those gems to myself. But, don’t worry. You’ll get an earful in the bleak hours of the night/morning when I can’t sleep because my hips are broken, hands are numb and I’m drowning in a pool of my own sweat. I’ll just let those truths stay between me and you.
The Mom in Black (hates you)