I’m 27 weeks and 1 day pregnant. You would think I’m in Peak Glow Zone. But I’m not. I think somebody has stolen my glow.
Somebody has stolen my glow and replaced it with hemorrhoids.
What? Too much information? TELL ME ABOUT IT. It’s too much information FOR ME and I’m the one dealing with it. I know things about myself I’ve never wanted to know. Regions of my body that should be ignored at all costs have become the central focus of my day.
I have an idea. Maybe we can stop talking about this for a minute or two and instead, you can shoot me.
OLD PEOPLE GET THIS.
Oh that’s right. Old people and lucky pregnant women.
So you call your midwife and she’s like “Don’t use that over-the-counter stuff it’s got mercury in it” (you hang your head, having already used it for two days you are sure you ruined your baby with mercury poisoning) but then she suggests potatoes and you’re like “You want me to do WHAT with potatoes?”
I’m sorry. Is this unpleasant? Of course it’s fucking unpleasant. This is what I’m trying to tell you. I’m supposed to be glowing but instead I’m being told to do ungodly things with potatoes.
One thing I know for sure: My glow has definitely not been dimmed by sleep problems. I mean, provided I meet a few simple conditions, I sleep like a damn baby.
You know, as long as
I’m on my left side or my right side (but not either side too long)
and I’ve got a pillow between my legs
and one under my belly and
one to hug,
and I have eaten recently but not too recently because heartburn
and we have the rear bodily region taken care of
and I’ve peed within the last 15 minutes and
it’s not too hot and
there are no weird smells in the air
and my husband isn’t snoring
and the dog isn’t snoring either and there aren’t offspring taking up the bed and making me really super fucking hot and the
baby isn’t poking my bladder with one of its 12 limbs
and it isn’t between the hours of 2 and 4 because those hours are for thinking not sleeping dumbass,
I sleep fine. I sleep great. I’m out like a motherfucking light.
Now that I think about it, there may be a small sleep issue harshing my glow.
Or maybe it’s the fact that my 3-year-old has recently learned the word “Never!” but not just never like standard never, she’s learned the never that’s stretched out, like “Neverrrrr!!” You know, the dramatic one yelled in response to the enemy force demanding that you “Surrender!” but instead you charge forward in brave defiance, wielding a sword and screaming “NEVERRRRR!”
And Georgia now says it about 174 times a day.
“George. Put on your socks.”
“Georgia, come eat your dinner.”
“Georgia. Say you’re sorry for ramming your finger up Rocket’s nose.”
That shit will fuck with your glow, I tell you.
I should be a soft picture of maternal beauty, but at some point my softness morphed into a walking ball of STOP WHAT YOU’RE DOING NOW or I may kill you. The other night at dinner I was literally going around the table telling each member of my family how they were eating wrong. As I was doing it, I knew it was insane.
Now ask me if I stopped.
Speaking of not stopping, maybe the glow diminishes with every empty carbohydrate you consume. If that’s the case, we have discovered the problem, folks. I’ve gained 35 pounds already (FUCK OFF SCALE) and it’s not healthy weight. I know this because I’m not eating healthy food. I mean I do sometimes. It’s not like I’ve consciously eliminated healthy food. I just supplement it with the occasional almond croissant. On occasion. Occasionally. Somewhat regularly.
Somebody give me a glow.
I haven’t bought any baby stuff because Jesus who has time for that shit?
I want to get excited but all I am is uncomfortable and tired and trying to figure out how the end of the third trimester has come 2 months early and how it is that my entire lower region is being held together by strings (that’s what it feels like, not actually what’s happening) and WHAT, exactly, compelled this whole circus.
I want to be glowing, but I’m a dim flickering bulb, barely doing its job and annoying the shit out of people.
The other day my husband watched our 3 kids walk out of the room and with a very serious face asked “Why did we think we needed another?” and the truth is I really couldn’t answer and NO it’s not that I don’t want this baby and NO it’s not that there’s any doubt in my mind that the second this child locks eyes with me and I inhale his (her?) heaven breath and watch the petal mouth root for my breast that I will think to myself “Oh. There you are. How did we make it this long without you?”
But for now, when I’m supposed to be “committing to a nursery theme” (we have no nursery) or joyously picking out a “going-home outfit” or planning a “baby moon” (what the fuck is a “baby moon?”) or laying around fantasizing all day about fingers and toes and dimpled elbows I’m like “Leave me alone so I can soak my ass in some Epsom salts.”
And then I hop onto Old Navy to buy my svelte little body some maternity clothes and I see this broad:
and while she’s skipping all joyous and shit like some sort of blond happy swan I’m like “Where’s the Metamucil, assholes?”
It’s all so hot. I’m just so hot.
My glow, it’s everywhere. In all the places. Can you feel it? I’m a radiant ball of reproducing glory.
Somebody hire a photographer so I can take those maternity shots where the mom makes a heart with her fingers and holds it in soft sunlight over the gorgeous arch of her womb.
Yes. Please. Let’s do that. That will be cute. I feel so cute right now.
Can’t you see it in my face? The double chin? ANYWHERE? (No seriously I could’t even muster the energy to look away from the damn phone or attempt to “smile for the camera!” Couldn’t be funny. Couldn’t be cute. Could only push button.)
I’ve got 13 weeks to get my motherfucking glow back.
Think I can do it?