If you know people who have been pregnant, you probably know someone who loved being knocked up. My good friend from college--I visited her and her beautiful five-month-old baby this past weekend--is one of those people. I totally buy it. Some people just really enjoy being pregnant... though I haven’t exactly figured out why. I even googled “I love being pregnant,” (true story), but I got bored after scanning the fourth link and decided I didn’t care.
There are definitely some perks to being pregnant. For example, I may never wear non-maternity clothes again (elastic waistband-ed jeans, where have you been all my life? Amirite, ladies?). I tend to be someone who enjoys talking about herself (see: this blog), so it’s nice that people are always asking me about me. And, I’ll admit it’s kind of cool (if not sometimes inconvenient) that my body is changing constantly to support the whole miracle of life thing that’s happening.
But overall, I’ve found pregnancy to be not all that great. Sure, I’ve had some annoying symptoms, but certainly no worse than what other women experience, and I imagine that by most accounts, I’m probably having a pretty easy pregnancy (post-first trimester). Mostly, I don’t like pregnancy because I have little desire to do anything that requires energy expenditure. Yes, I’ve been “active” during my pregnancy insofar as I have continued to workout. But take that out of the equation and you’ll realize that outside of work, the majority of my time is taken up with the following activities: sitting on the couch contemplating when I should go to bed, laying in bed trying to read one last blog post before I pass out, sleeping, and laying in bed wondering how much time I need to give myself to get ready for work.
I am exhausted. Constantly. Take tonight for instance. I left work early to meet MM and look at a daycare. At 5pm, the friendly director of the daycare took us on a tour of the facility explaining the curriculum and whatnot. I nodded and tried my hardest to look engaged. She asked if we had any other questions. I am about to be the mother of a newborn baby who I will be leaving with complete strangers for eight to ten hours at a time. Do I have questions?!? Of course I have questions! I just can’t remember what they are. She looked a little stunned when I responded with an apathetic, “Hmmm... No... I don’t think [stifled yawn] so.” When we got in the car, I yawned so frequently and violently (violent yawning is a thing) that being awake and forced to sit upright were nearly painful. By the time we got home, around six, I dropped my stuff on the floor, walked up stairs, took off my shoes, and got into bed, work clothes and all. I was out for two hours. When I woke up, sometime after eight, I struggled to convince myself that eating a bowl of cheerios was worth getting out of bed for.
WHO AM I?
But it’s not even just that I’m tired. I’m also completely incapable of giving a shit about doing anything other than spending time by myself in my comfy bed. I don’t have any interest in cooking dinner (I barely have an interest in eating dinner) or completing other life tasks; I don’t have any interest in going out for any reason; and I am not at all compelled to socialize (no offense friends, I still love you all, I just don’t have enough brain power to hold a conversation these days).
Under “normal” circumstances, isolating and ultra-lazy behavior like this would mean I’m depressed, but I guess that’s the glass-half-full part of this pregnancy thing: I am not in the least depressed about my avoidance of human contact. I am perfectly happy to spend my days horizontal and, yes sadly, alone. My poor husband spends a lot of time asking if I’m “still in bed” and “going to sleep already.” The answers to both those questions are “Yes.”
I look forward to giving a shit, hopefully, again once I’m a non-pregnant. Of course then, luxuries like sleep and laying in bed all day because I feel like it will be long gone. Huh. Maybe that’s why people love pregnancy.