Oh, look at me with my cap and gown and my cup of tea, I’ve got this life thing down!
Well well well, aren’t I quite the cry baby. Seriously, for someone that likes to perpetuate the them of an independent black woman since I graduated and realised that if I wanted to get stuff done, I’d better sure as hell figure out a way it do it myself because Prince Charming had lost my coordinates years ago.
It’s a weird vibe to put into the universe considering when I really think about it, I hold my own together until I have a monumental break down and my parents would have to pick me up, or my besties coach me through another crisis and in recent years, Hubz has taken the strain. Still I felt I was an island of accomplishment because I kept things to myself, that meant I was handling business.
What a crock.
I’ve made so secret about the journey to parenthood, and as I sit here tapping away like a classy receptionist (nail growth anyone?) at 6 months preggo, I realised how ill equipped, ill informed, arrogant and naive I was about handling the first trimester. Or as I refer to it as, the What The F*ck Trimester. I was not in the place to “Female boss”it, and it took a village to drag my hormonal, sicky, whiny butt through.
Seriously, what the actual F was that first slog all about????
Now I know no two women are the same, and I don’t think I even had the worst experience, but it was pretty horrible for me, I’m pretty dramatic as it is, so you know, was bound to go down this way.
A quick list of things that made me go WTF:
What is that taste about?
Who needs that much saliva?
What’s with blood hound nasal receptors? I’m not a cave woman, I no longer need to sniff out danger from a gazillion miles?
Garlic and onions you can flipping do one and all.
Sorry when did my body became made of actual lead?
If you cry one more time about absolutely sweet FA we will have serious words.
Fear, oh the fear.
Deffo developed an unhealthy relationship with the contents (or lack thereof) of my pants.
Violent swings of any temperament or temperature.
Actually any food can do one, you all make me want to rip my metallic tongue out.
Yes I’m not the same at work and I’m not ready to tell you why, my productivity is through the floor, I am not volunteering for anything, and you can bet your ass I’ll be first out the door at the end of the day. So feel free to assume that I am now shite at my job and may need sacking in due course.
No, I do not want to socialise with you, I don’t care how much prosecco you have.
What do you mean I can’t go to bed at 6pm? I don’t care if I have a meeting at 6.30pm.
Who is my husband? I am now married to my bed.
Don’t even try and get any love from me, you did this to me. You best keep that thing away from me.
Do I really have to leave my bedroom? This is my happy space.
Forget feminism, I want to be a 1950s house wife and stay home (in bed) whilst you bring home the bacon.
No, I did not make dinner.
No, I did not tidy the house.
Just No.
Regular exercise? Bahahahahaha!
Oh goodbye social filter, apparently, I’m just going to tell you how it is, this should end well when my hormones recalibrate. I’ll check out the mouth damage then. for now, take that horrible top off.
You have NO IDEA WHAT I AM GOING THROUGH, don’t you know I am the first woman to EVER GET PREGNANT EVER?
Sorry husband, is it strictly necessary for you to breathe?! Asking for a friend.
I didn’t know a pregnancy symptom was losing all reasonableness. It’s not? Hmm, go figure. I clearly missed that memo.
Oh hi toilet bowl. My new porcelain bestie.
Please don’t tell me how much you loved being pregnant, I don’t know if my condition will count as temporary insanity in a court of law after I’ve ripped your throat out, and I assume your child still wants a mother.
I am an incapable weiner, please leave me to sleep and feel sorry for myself.
Someone please remove my phone from my hand, I really need to stop searching every “symptom”, sneeze or hiccup (God, that one was back to the crazy conception days)
I don’t like odd numbers…. so….
So yeah, I totally LOVED that first 12 week. Ha 12 weeks, I did not feel human in any way shape or form till week 18 and even then…. all I’m saying is trimester 2 felt like propaganda to me to give you a sense of gross hope.
And yet, I did manage to carry on existing, the world still turned, I only missed 3 days of work and even then it was because my eye had decided to stop working properly. I still managed to go to the gym (very occasionally), I played netball until 11 weeks (It had never been so hard to get up and down a court). I did occasionally bounce back and manage to tidy a teeny square foot of the house. i did (and still have) ban onion and garlic from the house, and managed to cook a few meals. I made to a friends birthday and maybe managed to limit the “woe is me” look on my face. When we went for the 12 week scan, another monographer came in the room to get a form off mine and said, “Bad day today, I’ve had to give 2 lots of bad news and 2 referrals”. I realised then how bloody lucky I’d been, our entire scan had been spent being told that everything looked good and healthy; all of my issues had been cooked off online articles and generally feeling sorry for myself. So after that, what kept me going? This simple mantra:
At least I don’t have to do this and run around after a toddler.
It’s the simple things people.
Time to book another massage methinks, baby wants it.
