Monday, August 6, 2012

My Changing Relationships

Pregnancy is a funny thing.  You hear all the time that it will make you moody and might even break out in massive tears for seemingly no reason at all.  But I'm here to tell you about what really happens when you have a little something growing inside you:

EVERY relationship you've ever had is drastically changed.

For example, my toilet has now become my best friend.  I'm getting to know him on a very close, face-to-face basis.  He no longer only knows me from the backside.  The toilet in our master bathroom is named Fred.  I happen to like him better than Billy-Joe, who sits in our front bathroom.  I only see Billy-Joe when I've had enough calories and a few hours since waking up to get me to that part of the apartment (which, mind you, is less than 1200 sq. feet).  On the other hand, Fred has been there for me through thick and thin.  We have our little get-togethers at all times of day--early morning, mid-afternoon, post-dinner-pre-dessert time, and yes, my favorite, it's-the-middle-of-the-night-and-I've-been-shaken-awake-again-from-my-sweet-husband's-shifting-in-bed-so-now-I-think-I'm-going-to-be-sick moments.  Truly, I think I see Fred more often than I see Jordan...and that's maybe becoming a problem.

Not only has my toilet gotten to know a different side of me, but I have developed a bosom-friend relationship with Mr. Bucket.  Yes, for those days when kneeling on the bathroom floor for so long has made my legs fall asleep, I crawl back to bed and let Mr. Bucket keep me company.  Much like Fred, Mr. Bucket knows me inside and out.  I'm not sure how many times he's been sprayed and washed clean with our lemon-fresh Lysol cleaner, but I do know there is a distinct lemony-yuck smell developing in said bucket.  I'm not sure if the lemony-yuck is more from lemon being too strong for me now, or if it has to do with the yuck that's been in there between lemon washes...

My toaster and my microwave have been pleased with my constant use of their masterful cooking abilities.  I think in the last two years, I have used the toaster a total of 15 or 20 times.  In the last twelve weeks, I have used said toaster about 4 times a day.  Thank you, Mom, for teaching me the BRAT diet--bananas, rice, applesauce, toast--which works great for nausea.  Unfortunately, the only thing in that list that sounds appealing to me in the slightest degree is toast.  So, Mr. Toaster, please don't break on me.  I need your toasting power.  Microwave--I can't live without my nightly Cream-of-Wheat, so please keep functioning.  It takes far too long to cook that stuff over the stove, and you're doing a great job.

My relationship with my couch has become one full of love as well as one full of hate.  The couch provides me with a reason to get out of bed.  It also provides me with hours and hours of Olympic celebration.  However, the footsteps from my bed to the couch are around 20--or 40 if it's a particularly slow and nauseas day--and that's only half the exercise I need to be getting every day.  (Please don't stress about this; I promise, I am fully aware that I need more exercise than 40 steps a day.  And normally I would be thrilled to do that exercise.  But under these circumstances...don't. mess. with. me.)  I hate that our couch isn't quite cushy enough to feel soft and cozy for naptime--but I love that it makes me take shorter naps.

Pajamas are a thing of the past.  I'm ready for nightgowns and mu-mu's.  I cannot ever get comfortable with layers and layers of clothes under layers and layers of blankets (which I need because I like to sleep in cold air), and it's starting to show.  I wake up countless times each night, and each time, I see that my pajama bottoms have crept lower and lower down my legs.  Sometimes they are even kicked off and hiding somewhere in the sheets.  Gross?  Yes, of course.  I'm pregnant and chubby and sleeping half naked.  But come on!  What else am I supposed to do?

The refrigerator has become meaningless.  It once filled me with ideas.  Now I just waste energy staring into it as though something with "value" is going to pop out for me.  Don't get me wrong--our fridge is completely stocked full of fruits, veggies, and pastas etc. we've made in the last few days.  But after Day 1 of any food, I can't take it again.  After leaving the grocery store with any vegetable, I can't take it anymore.  After picking up the fruit from the crisper drawer, I can't take it anymore.  When I finally realize the fridge is not going to offer any help, I move on to the pantry.  The situation there is even worse.  I wasn't kidding when I said the only appealing food right now is toast and Cream-of-Wheat.  Sometimes boxed Mac-n-Cheese.  YUCK.  I'm disgusted that I've eaten even a tablespoon of that stuff.  And yet, when I want something tasty and out of my "ordinary," I jump for joy when Jordan suggests Mac-n-Cheese.  And I've done that far too many times this summer.

My poor child.  She must be thinking I'm a nutcase.  And that I have no taste buds.  Oh no...I'm going to give birth to one of those kids who's SO picky about food they won't even try a different kind of bread. And it's going to be all my fault for not eating normal food during all this.  Oh my heck. relationship with human beings has been just fine.  So far, Jordan has not had any major injuries caused by my mood swings or pregnancy amnesia, where I forget completely that he's my husband and not an axe murderer.  (And don't worry about that either.  It hasn't actually happened.  Except in dreams.)  In fact, I'd say we might even be closer than before.  So regardless of the constant little reminders to husbands in pregnancy books we have that say, "Beware: your wife may not want to spend time with you or even speak with you for a while.  Be loving and let her be an emotional wreck..." I'd say we're doing all right.  The only real danger we have to worry about is my relationship with Fred.  If we keep seeing each other so frequently, I might have to start sleeping somewhere else.

In other news, I'm now in my 2nd trimester!  WAHOO!  Maybe soon my changed relationships will go back to normal.  Maybe not the pajama thing, though...

Happy week and happy life, everyone.  Thanks for sharing a little piece of ours ;-*