All the years I was going through the fresh hell that is IVF, I swore over and over that if I ever managed to fall pregnant and stay pregnant I’d never once complain. Not a single complaint.
So everything in this blog post is what I would say if I were able to complain. But I can’t complain so I won’t.
I’m merely just listing out the following complaints as an example of how not to behave when you’re experiencing a miracle pregnancy…..
I’m so done with this pregnancy.
I’m tired. I’m over it. I’m finished. No more. The end. Bye bye.
Unfortunately, this pregnancy is not done with me.
By conservative estimates I’m currently 30 weeks with a monster sized baby, and if the dates are wrong I’m 32/33 weeks with a regular sized baby. Neither of these scenarios involve me being done with pregnancy for a couple of months at least.
My back pain is off the charts.
My hands and feet swell.
I’m breaking out in pimples.
I have horrible mood swings.
Sunday night I went to bed at 11pm. Between the hours of 11pm Sunday and 7am Monday morning, when my alarm went off, I got up to pee six times. Six. Times. Which basically means I’m only sleeping in hour long blocks.
On one of those occasions, I hit the inside of my right knee on the side of the bed frame as I struggled to sit my fat-ass upright. So I had a bit of a cry.
And then by the time I woke up there was a huge, ugly purple bruise already forming on the soft fleshy skin at the back of my knee. It’s still so bad I can hardly bend it.
About 2am I started overheating. It’s technically autumn in Australia but it’s still very hot and humid. We’re still getting above 30 degrees (86 Fahrenheit) most days and the heat lingers well into the evening. Normally I love the heat but it’s been a very hot summer and I’m really not coping with it at the moment.
Sunday night I had my ceiling fan running, a pedestal fan also running and pointed directly at the bed, my window open, the sheets bunched at my feet and I was still covered in sweat. After sitting up and feeling the sweat running down my back I had another little cry and hauled my oversized self into the shower at 2.30am where I blasted myself with cold water.
Then, instead of towel drying myself, I went and stood in front of the pedestal fan to dry so that I’d get another dose of coolness on my skin.
Finally, I climbed back into bed without putting my pjs back on. Half an hour later, my left boob (because I was lying on my left side) was completely stuck to the bed because I was leaking and didn’t have a shirt on. So I had yet another little cry.
Then I drifted in and out of sleep but my monster baby kept kicking me under my ribs whilst simultaneously pushing her hands down into my bladder and squelching them all around.
Eventually my alarm went off, I got out of bed and went to work – looking like a deliciously plump zombie lady. I mean how am I supposed to get through an entire work week if I’m not even sleeping at night? Riddle me that!
And sure once I have a newborn I’ll be up all night and sleep deprived. I get that. I’m down with that. Bring on the sleepless newborn phase. But right now I have to be awake all night then go to work for 9 hours a day. That’s just…mean!
And don’t even get me started on stretch marks.
Not that I’m complaining or anything (as stated above) but what the mother eff is with stretch marks?
I should have damn well known I’d be cursed with them. I seem to have all the bad luck. I am seriously paying for something very very bad that I did in a previous life.
Here’s where you get to the part where you tell me that stretch marks are little tiny gifts. They’re tiger stripes. Proof I’ve grown my child. Evidence my body did something amazing. Blah blah blah whatever whatever whatever.
The truth is they make me cry. I am hormonal and I am huge and they make me cry.
At first, I didn’t have stretch marks at all. I felt really good about myself.
Here’s a photo of my belly at 27 weeks pregnant (yes that’s belly is ONLY 27 WEEKS – I’m much bigger now!) right before the stretchies started appearing:
At about 27 weeks, I started noticing stretch marks forming across my scars. I have six small scars on my stomach from my four previous laparoscopies.
And I was okay with that! I totally understood. Those six scars were weaknesses in my skin. They’d all been opened up multiple times before and then resealed by surgeons. So of course the skin there was going to stretch. Six stretch marks across six scars on my stomach was something I could accept.
But in the past week my stomach has gone full stretch mark crazy. New stretch marks are appearing every day. They’re shooting off in all directions. You can’t really tell from the above photo but I have super pale skin so they’re very dark red and very noticeable.
Then this morning, after more than 3 months of not being able to visually sight Tasmania (that’s a little Aussie in-joke for you) I finally had enough and decided to shave my lady-bits. It was a mammoth friggen effort because I don’t have a handheld mirror.
After getting out of the shower and drying myself, I looked into the bathroom mirror and got the shock of my life.
Blood! Blood everywhere! Blood all over my lady-bits! So I was trying to get the blood off with a towel but no amount of scrubbing was removing it. And suddenly I realised…it wasn’t blood…it was stretch marks.
MY VAGINA IS COVERED IN STRETCH MARKS.
Full tiger stripes all the way across, from top to bottom. They’d been hiding under my pubic hair. I look ridiculous. I LOOK RIDICULOUS. I look like a half plucked chicken. WHY DOES ALL THE FUN STUFF HAPPEN TO ME?
My uterus is measuring at 33ish weeks, but I have a tilted uterus so it sits out really big. I honestly look like I’m already at full-term. And I can’t stop thinking about this. If I was measuring on track for my gestation, and if my uterus wasn’t tilted, I wouldn’t have gotten these stretch marks until the very last little bit of my pregnancy. I would only have gotten a few of them. And I would have been okay with just a few!
But the reality is this little dumpling in my womb has to cook for at least another two months. If I get one more stretch mark every day, that’s an extra 56 stretch marks. And that is super, super gross. I will look like a freako. And that’s discounting the fact my chicken vagina already makes me look like a freako…
Even if I get only 3 new stretch marks a week, that’s still 24 extra stretch marks. And I would get NONE of those extra damn stretch marks if only my stomach was the size it is actually SUPPOSED to be. Do you feel me here? Do you get what I’m saying?
My skin actually had the ability to expand to full-term pregnant size with only minimal stretch marks. But my poor stomach skin didn’t stand a chance against my ridiculously extra huge belly. Cursed I tell you!
No I’m not just cursed. I am ruined. RUINED.
A woman in my mummy’s group says “oh it doesn’t matter because only my husband will see this part of my body for the rest of my life.”
Yeah well that’s nice for you, lady. But that’s not the case for me. Plus might I remind you that the divorce rate in this country has doubled in the past 20 years so don’t count your chickens until they’ve hatched.
Speaking of chickens…I’ve just reminded myself of my vagina again and now I’m in the throes of devastation once more.
I may as well join a nunnery because ain’t nobody wants to see that hideousness underneath my clothes ever again.
Thank you for listening to complaints that I’ve not made. Because I don’t make complaints and I swore I never would.
I hope you’re all now educated on things not to complain about during pregnancy.
Have a nice day.