Tuesday, June 05, 2007

Welcome to "How to be Properly Pregnant, Part 1".

Was I recently complaining about not having had any real symptoms and problems yet? Well, there must be a vengeful god afterall, for I was smitten immediately thereafter.

With what?

Ha! If you think you ever suffered from flatulence, try being pregnant and eating full-grain bread, because you want to pass the right nutrients down to your baby. As my general practicioner said yesterday: "How healthy can health food be, if you end up feeling miserable?" No shit, Sherlock. I have now scratched full-grain bread from my pregnancy diet altogether, for never again do I want to go through what I went through yesterday. I hope this was worse than labor will ever be (at least at this point I cannot imagine anything worse than yesterday), for if it wasn't I have just found out that my pain-threshold isn't what I thought it to be, and I'll be whimpering and begging for a PDA at my very first contraction. My stomach was so bloated that even my doc's eyes, upon examining it, widened. My diaphragm was compressed to the point that I couldn't breathe and felt extreme pressure on my heart. I couldn't sit, I couldn't stand. Moving caused me extreme pain, but so did remaining still. It was pure agony, and I just yapped at my doc to "please, HELP ME!!!!"

Thank that smiting god for modern western medicine.

Alas... not enough! During my general exam, where my doc made sure that I, in fact, had teeth in my mouth, and a functioning skeleton, and a "normal" abdomen, and 4 extremities, and an okay blood pressure, and normal-sized lymph-nodes, he also discovered that - SHOCK! - I am very prone to varicose veins, and that therefore I will have to spend this summer, fueled by the fires of hell, with my legs stuck into tight vene-compressing stockings. Until. I give. Birth.

Stockings!

In Summer!

Every day!

My very first real pet-pregnancy ailment. I was so shocked and horrified over the prospect of tight and thick stockings all throughout hell-summer, that not even the fact that I had to grab for C-cups instead of my normal Bs later on when I went to buy some pregnancy bras, could cheer me up anymore.

Now, look at me, here I am, rapidly approaching the sixth month of my first pregnancy, growing black hairs on my stomach, having to shave my legs practically once ever half hour, developing a nice case of lady-beard on my chin, wearing incredibly un-sexy pregnancy bras for support and to avoid any more stretch marks on my breasts than I already got, which go along greatly with the bag-like maternity pants I am wearing, squishy feet the size of watermelons, and sweating to death in my new and shiny grandma-stockings against varicose veins!

Life is just grand.

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