Somehow I thought this would be a little different...
In my pre-pubescent, playing-house, Barbie-influenced dreams of yore, I pictured this whole process a good bit differently. Don't pregnant ladies glow around the house in their maribou-feathered slippers and silky negligee under a cute cotton housecoat, a pretty pink bow in their hair, full-face makeup and painted nails, munching bon-bons and whipping up one lacy layette after another? Don't they daintily do their housework and still have the energy to paint the new nursery in Easter-egg colors, rosy-cheeked and cherry-lipped, bright and shiny and full of maternal sparkles?
How did I get this idea? Because it sure as hell isn't rooted in reality, I'll tell you that. I don't even own a cute floral-print cotton housecoat, and if I did, it'd be way too much trouble to pull it out of the closet and put it on. I think I spent all of Sunday on the couch in a t-shirt from the day before, huddled under a fleece blanket and sipping orange juice and Ovaltine to keep my blood sugar up (and the nausea at a reasonable level). I don't think I managed to find pants. All. Day. Let's not even begin to discuss the state of the house, because if it is at all acceptable, it's not due to any effort on my part.
In fact, if Nyte weren't at home most of the day, we could very well be wading through laundry and cat hair and dishes and trash, ankle-deep. Granted, I've gotten a bit out of the habit of doing housework lately, but that's largely because every time I sit down I seem to fall asleep. Carrying on conversations is a chore. Reading often requires too much concentration. I don't even want to knit, which scares me a little; expending extra energy as I stare slack-jawed at the television is the last thing I want to do at the end of the day.
Although I suppose yesterday proves that I can't blame work for my state of mind (or lack of), as I expended as little energy and mental power as possible yesterday and still had to be prodded awake to eat something.
I'm told that after the first trimester, this will go away (largely) and I'll perk up again, and the nesting instinct will kick in. Nesting I'm okay with, so long as I don't spend too much, because nesting results in clean and organized house, yay! Clean and organized house is always a happy thing, and does in fact cheer me up considerably. It's satisfying. It's also exhausting, which is why it doesn't generally happen more than one room at a time.
The tricky bit is, being tired and spacey and having no motivation to do anything and having lots of general body aches and pains is really, really close to all my symptoms of depression. I think subconsciously I've assumed I'm depressed, which is something I've always felt ashamed about, and because this new situation is so...well, new and unreal still, I'm making the wrong emotional and psychological connections. Yay, baggage.
If that wasn't bad enough, Mercury went into retrograde the middle of last week, so everything's all screwy. As someone born into a highly Mercurial sign (hi, fellow Geminis! Bipolar much? Awesome.), this = scrambled brainmeats. A lot of people don't put any stock into astrological phenomena and its effect on people, but I need something besides hormones and myself to blame things on, and crazy-ass star-waves chompin' on the ol' noggin frequency is as good a reason as any. (Don't worry, I'm not about to make myself an aluminum hat or anything, unless it would improve the reception on the upstairs tv.)
I have to say though, Nyte really is the best guy in the entire world. He's been so patient and helpful and supportive and everything, researching stuff I don't even think about, cleaning up when things smell too much (which these days hardly takes anything), moving the whole litterbox setup upstairs into the computer room/lab where I hardly ever go so as to minimize my contact with potentially toxic bacteria, getting fresh fruits and veggies and coaching me to eat what I should, or at least what I should within the few foods I feel I could possibly choke down. Which is definitely a huge issue.
Oh yeah. Lemme tell you, kids, this sucks. Normally I love just about any kind of food. Normally, I'm happy to eat whatever Nyte makes, and can find something wherever we might go with friends, but these days I have no desire to eat out. None. (Unless it's ice cream.) I don't know what will happen, see. What looks good and what smells good can change in seconds, and I can't afford to be ordering stuff and sending it back, you know? I don't know if the fish sticks that sound OH SO TASTY when I walk in will be way too greasy or way too fishy or way too stick-y by the time they get to the table.
In a way, I suppose it's good. This way we save money, and I eat much healthier things than can be found in any restaurant (example: Nyte's parents brought their first crop of asparagus and I thought my eyes would roll to the back of my head permanently, there was so much tasty). I'm doing the calcium and folic acid thing, and one of these days (okay, okay, I'll do it today) I'll fill my prenatal vitamin prescription, and hopefully it won't make me sick (like all the ladies in the office say it will). Monday I have my first specialist appointment, and am properly apprehensive. Not expectant; apprehensive. Bluh. Doctor offices are nerve-wracking enough, but something I'm already feeling weird and disconnected from isn't going to improve my viewpoint. I don't think there will be an ultrasound until at least 12 weeks, but hey, you never know.
In other, non-pod-related-news, we're still planning on going to Origins. Turns out that plant shutdown is the week of July 4th, which is the week of Origins, which means I won't have to take any time off if I want to go or try to wander around after work when I'm already exhausted, and while Sunday I might stay home and recuperate, the rest of the week is free. If Nyte has a job by then, Thursday and Friday will be interesting. I'll need to pack my own food, because food court pizza and subs and crap are not going to work; but on the other hand, I have a very good excuse to take my pull-behind suitcase, now.
Friday we went out with friends to a little restaurant, and there they saw me eat a pickle, and OMG SO FUNNY, thought they, and took pictures. HAHAHAH, PREGGERS WANTS PICKLES. STEREOTYPES R FO REALZ, YAYZ.
I humored them as much as I was able, but I will say this - go ahead, chuckle it up, buckos. Your time will come.
Or, well, your girlfriends' times will come. Providing you get girlfriends. And actually get pregnant with them. Eventually. And who will be laughing then? That's right - ME.
If I remember, or find it even remotely funny. You know how it goes.
Please tell me you know how it goes.
How did I get this idea? Because it sure as hell isn't rooted in reality, I'll tell you that. I don't even own a cute floral-print cotton housecoat, and if I did, it'd be way too much trouble to pull it out of the closet and put it on. I think I spent all of Sunday on the couch in a t-shirt from the day before, huddled under a fleece blanket and sipping orange juice and Ovaltine to keep my blood sugar up (and the nausea at a reasonable level). I don't think I managed to find pants. All. Day. Let's not even begin to discuss the state of the house, because if it is at all acceptable, it's not due to any effort on my part.
In fact, if Nyte weren't at home most of the day, we could very well be wading through laundry and cat hair and dishes and trash, ankle-deep. Granted, I've gotten a bit out of the habit of doing housework lately, but that's largely because every time I sit down I seem to fall asleep. Carrying on conversations is a chore. Reading often requires too much concentration. I don't even want to knit, which scares me a little; expending extra energy as I stare slack-jawed at the television is the last thing I want to do at the end of the day.
Although I suppose yesterday proves that I can't blame work for my state of mind (or lack of), as I expended as little energy and mental power as possible yesterday and still had to be prodded awake to eat something.
I'm told that after the first trimester, this will go away (largely) and I'll perk up again, and the nesting instinct will kick in. Nesting I'm okay with, so long as I don't spend too much, because nesting results in clean and organized house, yay! Clean and organized house is always a happy thing, and does in fact cheer me up considerably. It's satisfying. It's also exhausting, which is why it doesn't generally happen more than one room at a time.
The tricky bit is, being tired and spacey and having no motivation to do anything and having lots of general body aches and pains is really, really close to all my symptoms of depression. I think subconsciously I've assumed I'm depressed, which is something I've always felt ashamed about, and because this new situation is so...well, new and unreal still, I'm making the wrong emotional and psychological connections. Yay, baggage.
If that wasn't bad enough, Mercury went into retrograde the middle of last week, so everything's all screwy. As someone born into a highly Mercurial sign (hi, fellow Geminis! Bipolar much? Awesome.), this = scrambled brainmeats. A lot of people don't put any stock into astrological phenomena and its effect on people, but I need something besides hormones and myself to blame things on, and crazy-ass star-waves chompin' on the ol' noggin frequency is as good a reason as any. (Don't worry, I'm not about to make myself an aluminum hat or anything, unless it would improve the reception on the upstairs tv.)
I have to say though, Nyte really is the best guy in the entire world. He's been so patient and helpful and supportive and everything, researching stuff I don't even think about, cleaning up when things smell too much (which these days hardly takes anything), moving the whole litterbox setup upstairs into the computer room/lab where I hardly ever go so as to minimize my contact with potentially toxic bacteria, getting fresh fruits and veggies and coaching me to eat what I should, or at least what I should within the few foods I feel I could possibly choke down. Which is definitely a huge issue.
Oh yeah. Lemme tell you, kids, this sucks. Normally I love just about any kind of food. Normally, I'm happy to eat whatever Nyte makes, and can find something wherever we might go with friends, but these days I have no desire to eat out. None. (Unless it's ice cream.) I don't know what will happen, see. What looks good and what smells good can change in seconds, and I can't afford to be ordering stuff and sending it back, you know? I don't know if the fish sticks that sound OH SO TASTY when I walk in will be way too greasy or way too fishy or way too stick-y by the time they get to the table.
In a way, I suppose it's good. This way we save money, and I eat much healthier things than can be found in any restaurant (example: Nyte's parents brought their first crop of asparagus and I thought my eyes would roll to the back of my head permanently, there was so much tasty). I'm doing the calcium and folic acid thing, and one of these days (okay, okay, I'll do it today) I'll fill my prenatal vitamin prescription, and hopefully it won't make me sick (like all the ladies in the office say it will). Monday I have my first specialist appointment, and am properly apprehensive. Not expectant; apprehensive. Bluh. Doctor offices are nerve-wracking enough, but something I'm already feeling weird and disconnected from isn't going to improve my viewpoint. I don't think there will be an ultrasound until at least 12 weeks, but hey, you never know.
In other, non-pod-related-news, we're still planning on going to Origins. Turns out that plant shutdown is the week of July 4th, which is the week of Origins, which means I won't have to take any time off if I want to go or try to wander around after work when I'm already exhausted, and while Sunday I might stay home and recuperate, the rest of the week is free. If Nyte has a job by then, Thursday and Friday will be interesting. I'll need to pack my own food, because food court pizza and subs and crap are not going to work; but on the other hand, I have a very good excuse to take my pull-behind suitcase, now.
Friday we went out with friends to a little restaurant, and there they saw me eat a pickle, and OMG SO FUNNY, thought they, and took pictures. HAHAHAH, PREGGERS WANTS PICKLES. STEREOTYPES R FO REALZ, YAYZ.
I humored them as much as I was able, but I will say this - go ahead, chuckle it up, buckos. Your time will come.
Or, well, your girlfriends' times will come. Providing you get girlfriends. And actually get pregnant with them. Eventually. And who will be laughing then? That's right - ME.
If I remember, or find it even remotely funny. You know how it goes.
Please tell me you know how it goes.