9 Months Pregnant and Miserable

I haven’t complained about being pregnant lately.
I’ve been trying to be a good girl and appreciate the blessing of being pregnant. Yes, lots of people can get pregnant without even trying or wanting to, but there are many who cannot, or do and suffer miscarriage after miscarriage. I had typed up a beautiful rant about how much being pregnant sucked, and then I made myself read other blog posts on pregnancy. The heartbreaking stories of women who could not get pregnant, stay pregnant or carry a baby to term- feeling lucky if they made it to viability at 24 weeks.

My niece was born at 25 weeks.
I watched how hard my sister worked to get that amazing little girl here. That amazing little girl is now 4, but I still see the tiny baby they wheeled quickly by on the way to her 3 month stay in the NICU.

What have I got to complain about?

I have the gall to whine in front of my sister, who has since had another child, full term with no complications. I’m sure her husband would love to punch me in the face when I do, as he changed her bed pans for 2 weeks since she wasn’t even allowed to get out of her hospital bed. Her water broke more than a week before viability.

Despite that, I’m still a brat.
Well, I think I’ve definitely been a brat up to this point. Aren’t you granted a free pass in the last month though? The last month of pregnancy is excruciatingly uncomfortable, both mentally and physically.

You’re just so ready to be done with the fatigue and the Braxton-Hix contractions, the use of your bladder as a trampoline, your ribs as monkey bars and your prepubescent acne.

The glow is definitely gone by the 9th month. The bloom has rubbed off and it is eviction time.

37 is the magic number.
37 weeks is considered full term. I can make it to 37 weeks and then hope the baby decides to come soon. I’m having a C-section so my magic number is 39 weeks, but if my body (of “advanced maternal age”), decided to go into labor at 37 weeks, I could be ok with that. Look, I want what every mother wants, a healthy baby. I just think that mothers looking 9 months pregnant square in the eye want a healthy baby as soon as possible.

It’s time to get off the ride.

We’ve ridden the roller coaster, thrown up all over, laughed cried, been exhilarated by the drops and inclines, but it’s time to get off.

Yes, we’ll just be boarding the newborn tea cups that gently spin us into a slumber we cannot afford to take while we convince ourselves, this isn’t so bad. But it really isn’t so bad. You get to see your little one’s face. You get as many kisses as you want, and to inhale the sweetness of new baby- like puppy breath, new shoes or that new car smell. You take it in until the smell is gone or you become so accustomed to it, you can’t detect it anymore. Exhaustion sets in, sure, but now you’re exhausted without the added bonus of nausea and the inability to get comfortable if you are afforded the privilege of sleep. You can take a deep breath without your lungs protesting that they don’t have room for such an involuntary function. Ah, I lament a more comfortable time which makes my 4 weeks seems like its own trimester.

I refuse to buy maternity shirts with only a month left to go- hence the, “fat guy in a little coat”, look.

Being 9 months pregnant is a privilege.
Not every woman gets to endure the tyranny of the 9th month. Even through all the whining, I am well aware of how wonderful it is I get to endure these last few weeks. I just wish that all women could have the privilege of whining about how awful it is to be 9 months pregnant.