I think I’ve stated before that I am not a graceful Earth Mother type who relishes every moment of being pregnant, right? Ok then, consider yourself warned for the whine-fest ahead.
One of the parts that I really hate about pregnancy is not feeling like I’m in control of my own body. Sure, I’m klutzier, but whatever. That’s no big deal, I’m a klutz anyway. And I have no control over the way that my body is physically expanding and changing. Again, this is not my first time at this particular rodeo, so that’s not a big deal to me either.
It’s the emotional part. The crying about abso-freaking-lutely nothing, the getting angry about stupidly insignificant things, and just feeling like a really horribly unpleasant person. That’s the part that I hate the most.
Example scenario: The past couple of days, my breakfast has been an omelet with spinach and tomatoes. It’s delicious, and I do it with about 1/3 eggs and 2/3 Egg Beaters, because let’s face it, you can eat a hell of a lot more with no guilt if you’re using the low-cal egg substitute.
[Side note: Before I got pregnant? I was doing the same thing for breakfast, except it was spinach and mushrooms. But pregnancy totally put me off mushrooms – which used to be one of my favorite things in the whole wide world, so that was weird. But I do have a history of eating tomatoes when pregnant. When I was pregnant with Catie, I would eat about four or five whole tomatoes a day – just slice ’em up, salt ’em, and wolf ’em down. When I’m not pregnant? I can take or leave tomatoes, I’m totally indifferent about them. Bizarro.]
So, I come downstairs this morning all excited to make my omelet. Only to find out that while we do have spinach, we’re out of tomatoes. Like, even the diced tomatoes in a can. None. The closest thing we have is ketchup, and… well, NO. That would be disgusting in an omelet.
And seriously, I stood in the kitchen for a good five minutes, trying to figure out what I was going to do. I wanted to yell at Dave for finishing the last of the tomatoes – because, you know, the big jerk woke up earlier than me, and how dare he? I debated getting dressed and going to the store right then for tomatoes, except I hadn’t eaten anything yet, and I’m pretty sure that pregnant lady + empty stomach = A BAD SCENE at the grocery store. (I’d come out with $200 worth of food, easy.)
Then I decided that maybe the wisest thing to do would be to eat something else, and have my spinach-tomato omelet later, after going to the store. But the thought of eating something else made me feel like I either wanted to barf or cry. Or both.
See? IRRATIONAL. And I know it, I totally recognize it, but I cannot seem to control it. And I really, really hate it.
In the end, I ate a piece of cheese toast. Which I normally love, but today it was wholly unsatisfying. Still, it was enough that I can now go to the grocery store without fear of buying everything in sight.
But I might buy every last can of diced tomatoes that they have. You know, just to be safe.
Awww! I’ll bring you some tomatoes!
AmazingGreis´s last blog post ..Goal setting for 2011…
Poor preggers Cindy! Hope you got your tomatoes and let Dave off the hook!
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I seriously want to send you tomatoes.
When my aunt was pregnant with Sophia I was her nanny for her three boys (poor Sophia, the only girl) and she would call me and ask if I was on my way then go “Stop at Starbucks and get me a triple shot of expresso over ice, HURRY!” and I’d whip into Starbucks, run in all breathless and ask for it. One time the Starbucks I went to was OUT OF ICE. I almost burst into tears, no lie. I was SO freaked out my aunt would kill me (fyi she’s 5’2 and I’m 5’7 but still pregnancy hormones ftw) that I went to the next town over for the expresso.
Any time she wanted something I got it. She hates oreos but anytime she was pregnant she craved them. She was out one time and Connor and I made a special trip to the store to get the double stuffed so she didn’t cry.
I make it a point to get pregnant women around me whatever they want. Their happiness is the key to my survival.