I Can’t See! I’m Bleeding! I Can’t Stand It!
(Weird and Painful Bits and Pieces)
Obviously, this whole book is devoted to all the strange things that happen to you while pregnant. Let me take a minute to horrify you on some of the finer points in the “Did you know?” category.
Did you know that leg cramps can be really frequent, especially in the last trimester? Wake-you-up-in-the-middle-of-the-night-in-a-cold-sweat leg cramps? Leg cramps feel just like growing pains if you can remember back that far, you old fart. For me, about the only thing that helped was to try to walk through them. As in get my fat ass off the couch and walk around a bit. But when they were really bad, I would beg my husband to rub them out when I could stand to have him touch them at all. Note: Have that massage oil standing by.
And are you expecting blurred vision? Brace yourself. Blurred vision does not happen to all pregnant women so don’t freak out. But for all of you who wake up and can’t see your hand in front of your face, I just want you to know that this IS a side effect of pregnancy. My doctor told me that some women need to get their eyeglass prescription changed during their pregnancy because their vision is radically different. For what it’s worth, mine went back to normal after delivery.
Remember what I told you about the snail trail discharge and the likelihood that your nose would play the same game? Yes, it’s true: Runny noses usually happen early in the pregnancy and could last the whole damn time. I had sneezing attacks that would go on for hours because of my softening nasal membranes. Wait, it gets better: Bloody noses are also big in pregnancy, so keep that Kleenex box next to your bed.
Speaking of blood, know this: Bleeding gums are not necessarily a sign of gingivitis. Pregnancy can make that toothbrush turn pink. Because nothing about my pregnancy was half-assed, I looked like a vampire that had been sucking someone’s neck all night long. Needless to say, I went through a few toothbrushes.
And speaking of veins, the dark line on your belly isn’t one. A vein, that is. It’s officially called the linea nigra and it’s just a line. That’s all. Doctors don’t seem to know why some women get it and others don’t. It doesn’t hurt, of course. But I don’t think it’s terribly attractive! As with all things in this department, there’s no way to get rid of the line, but it does go away after you give birth. Fair warning: If you’re brave enough to sport a bikini while pregnant, know that exposing your belly to the sun might make the linea nigra darker.
Believe it or not, the one and only symptom or side effect I did not have the pleasure of living through myself while pregnant was spider veins. I got everything else, so I have no idea why God stopped here. I did get one varicose vein that I thought was both nasty-looking and seriously uncomfortable, but after hearing my friends talk about their spider veins, I stopped complaining about my little varicose vein and shut my trap.
It turns out (I asked) that spider veins are caused by an increase in estrogen in your system. And I’ve also heard that people who stand a lot have a better chance of getting them. I asked my girlfriend about them, and she told me that hers started to spin their webs in the fourth month and got progressively worse from there. She said that her beautiful model legs (her description, not mine) started to look like the grandma who got run over by a reindeer. They were puffy, purpley, and squiggly, and she was mortified. She cried at her doctor’s office, and he told her she had actually been lucky because he had seen some women with spider veins that looked like grapes hanging off a vine—gnarled and crisscrossed and bulbous. I’m so sorry if you ever get them that bad, but rest assured that they almost always disappear after delivery. My friend’s did. She’s back to wearing short skirts and heels. See, you, too, will be back skanking it up in no time at all!
www.ihavetostopbuyingbabyshit.com
(On-Line Baby Stores)
Somebody stop me!!!
There was no doubt about it and even I can admit it: I needed help. My husband tried to find me some rehab, but it turns out that there are no clinics for out-of-control, shopaholic moms-to-be. But hey, if you can’t get out of the house, what else is there for you to do? You shop the Web for the cutest, most adorable baby stuff money can buy. I did. You probably will. I won’t blame you.
For me, the problem began when I registered for my baby shower. A friend told me to register on-line because it would make it easier for me and for those buying for me. So I found a good store on-line and registered. Once I got there, I saw all these links to other baby stores and nursery stores and specialty stores and so on. So I just thought I would take a look-see at some of them. The next thing I knew we had a stack of boxes outside our door. My husband was fine with my spending at first. It wasn’t until the other sixty boxes came that he basically lost a nut. The key to controlling his temper was being smart enough to buy a few “I love my daddy” bibs. I would open up a box and say, “But look how cute, honey; he loves his daddy.”
That trick may have calmed him down, but little did he know that from then on, I had stuff delivered to my sister’s house. I finally slowed down when I realized I had almost spent our nest egg on crap our baby would probably never really appreciate. A word to the wise: Shopping on the Web is always hard to resist, but when you’re pregnant and hormonal and have nothing better to do for the afternoon, shopping on the Web is like entering the Bermuda triangle. It looks fun and relaxing, but you’ll never find a way out. Quit while you’re ahead and toss the computer in the attic the moment you find out you’re in the family way.
Is It Hot in Here or Is It Just Me? . . . It’s Just Me
(Hot Flashes and Fainting Spells)
Pregnancy made me sweat. I think that’s why they say pregnant women glow. I had a constant layer of sweat on my face. Between the slickness of the sweat and my out-of-control body temperature, you could have fried eggs and bacon right on my forehead.
If you’re like me, hot flashes and fainting spells could be some of the first symptoms to let you know that you’re pregnant. I remember standing in checkout lines with sweat dripping down my face. And then I’d get dizzy. I’m grateful I don’t have any embarrassing fainting stories but every once in a while I would get dizzy enough to plow into walls. (Being blond I could get away with it.) If you’re in a stuffy room with no air circulating, you’re asking for it.
If you live somewhere with a cool climate, you’re one lucky gal. Take it from me: Living in any kind of heat (like Los Angeles) while pregnant can wipe a lady out. I got to the point where, in our house at night, I had the air-conditioning on fifty degrees (in nothing but Granny undies—lots of fabric and plenty of coverage but not lots of warmth) while my husband was forced to wear a parka and mittens. He kept complaining that icicles were forming on his nose. Of course, reasonable and emotionally balanced pregnant woman that I was, I didn’t care if he turned into Frosty the Snowman as long as I kept cool.
Without air-conditioning, there was so much heat radiating off me that when my husband and I were in the car, the windows on my side would steam up. The bigger the baby got inside me, the more my thermostat overheated. I kept referring to my body as the Easy Bake oven, but my timer wasn’t going to go off for another six weeks. The closer I got to my delivery date, the more miserable I got. Soon I just had to be naked all the time, which wasn’t a pretty sight. Some people might think a naked pregnant lady is beautiful, but when I looked in the mirror I saw a sweaty, cellulite-filled, hairy-bushed, stretch-marked, miserable pregnant lady.
Let’s recap: I was sweaty, unsteady, horrible to look at, and naked. It could have been worse, I suppose. I still managed to bathe so that I didn’t stink. There’s just got to be no sorrier sight on earth than a miserable pregnant lady who stinks!
Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh, OOOOOOOOHHHHHHH! . . . I’ll Take Another One of Those, Please!
(Orgasms in Pregnancy)
Not every single thing in pregnancy was horrible, of course. There was the promise of the baby to come. And there was coming. If God has designed it that w
e are allowed one good thing in pregnancy, I am SO glad he picked orgasms. If you haven’t had a pregnant orgasm yet, I sincerely hope that you will get to experience one in the near future. Outstanding. Capital O.
Now I know what you’re thinking: “Who’s thinking about sex? If my husband even comes near me with his penis I’m going to run.” I totally understand. I was not interested in having actual sex, either, but remember, there is such a thing as “going at it alone.” Know what I mean? I hope I don’t have to draw you a picture.
I don’t have a medical explanation for why orgasms are so much more intense when you’re pregnant (something about increased blood flow, I think, but understanding it takes all the fun out of it!), and I don’t really need one. I do know from checking out my expression in a mirror once that I look like I’m having a seizure during them because of the intensity. Yet another reason I avoided my husband.
Wonderful though the pregnant orgasm truly is, I would rotate from “OH YES” to “OH NO, I’M KILLING MY BABY.” I constantly asked my doctor if I was harming my baby, and he constantly assured me I was not. To quiet my fears, I pictured my little baby at a Grateful Dead concert, stoned on my endorphins, just floating in ecstasy as Mom lay there with glazed eyes and a big grin.
Of course, there are some women out there who constantly crave actual sex during pregnancy. I don’t know who the hell you are, but the women’s magazines report that you’re out there. Not me. I wanted a little Snausage maybe twice in the entire nine months of pregnancy. Other than that my husband kept his willy far away from me. Fine with me, but it was also his prerogative. He told me it felt too weird for him to have his penis banging away so close to his son. Again, fine with me. He had his dirty mags and I had the pocket rocket!
So give it a whirl and try to take advantage of the best side effect pregnancy has to offer. The big “O” is more like “O YEAH!”
The Crying Game
(Hormonal Blues)
I know I’m about to get my period every month when I’m driving alone in my car, hear a sad song on the radio, and burst into tears. It’s usually some song by Barry Manilow or any Carpenters’ song. Well, when you’re pregnant you don’t need a song to come on the radio to make you cry. You just need to hear a traffic report and the floodgates will open.
Now, I’m not talking about postpartum: That’s in book two . . . heh heh heh. And I’m not talking about Psycho Chick (she’s another story; see page 15). This is about all those tears shed while your bun is still in the proverbial oven. There were times I honestly thought I was going to get completely dehydrated because I would cry for days. Looking back I giggle at how emotional we women get. But those damn hormones really get the best of us. And forget about going to the movies. Even comedies made me sob.
Case in point: I was pregnant when Moulin Rouge came out, and I decided to treat myself to a little movie and popcorn. The big mistake here was going by myself. I cried so hard in the theater that strangers were coming up to me and asking if I was hurt. As people filed out, I hid on the ground because I couldn’t control my sobbing. (Wait, it gets worse.) Once everyone had left, I ran to my car and pulled away. Seconds later I pulled over because I couldn’t drive. I was sobbing so hard I began to hyperventilate. Now, if you haven’t seen the movie you are probably thinking, “Damn, this must be a good flick.” Well, it is a great movie, but when you’re pregnant The Wizard of Oz would do the same thing. Hard-won advice: Take a friend with you to the movies when you’re pregnant. At least you can sob on her shoulder and she can drive you home.
And here’s another good piece of advice: DO NOT watch the news. Hearing about the destruction of our world does not make a woman bringing a child into it very happy. I cried without provocation. The nightly news just added fuel to the fire. Oh, and those damn baby shows. The sweet ones are good to watch (then the tears are tears of happiness), but I seemed to constantly get sucked into the ones about preemie babies needing emergency surgery. My husband would walk into the room and see my big pregnant body sobbing in front of the television and would force me to change the channel. Hard as it was to leave those little ones on the operating table, I’m grateful he yanked me out of my movie-of-the-week-induced downward spiral.
Sometimes you have no idea why you’re crying. I remember sitting on the sofa watching a piece of lint roll by and I burst into tears. My husband kept asking me what was wrong, and I remember trying to think of why I was crying, but there wasn’t a reason. Crying for no reason just didn’t compute for him, so finally I would just make up something, as in, “I’m crying because you forgot to take the garbage out.” A little cruel, sure. But a reason is something a man can get his head around. Offer him a reason and you get a twofer: You will get your husband off your back, and as in my case, it’ll ensure that the garbage gets taken out.
So, Anyway, Like I Was Saying . . . Wait, What Was I Saying?
(Wandering Mind)
Have you experienced the “pregnancy stupids” yet? If not, believe what I say and what all the books say: It’s real, it’s wild, and you, too, will soon become an airhead. That’s all I needed. Most people already think I’ve got a screw loose. And they think I’ve got the dumb blond thing down pat. But nothing holds a candle to the pregnancy stupids.
As I was driving in my car one glorious afternoon, I started to think about when my own mind would start to wander, when and where I would be when I’d begin to forget. It was at that point I realized I didn’t need to wonder anymore. I had just passed my house by a mile and a half. How airheaded could I be? I was just driving aimlessly in thought . . . about forgetting. I couldn’t believe it. A little embarrassed, a little mystified, I just giggled and figured that was as bad as things would get.
Well, by golly, I lost more brain cells every day. I couldn’t remember phone numbers; I’d stand in grocery store aisles scratching my head over what I had come to buy; I’d lose my train of thought mid-conversation; once I even left my dogs at the groomer for a couple of days before I figured out they weren’t simply out for a really long walk. Annoying as this clearly was, I would forget about my frustration as quickly as it popped in my head.
The flip side of losing thoughts is losing yourself in thought. Whether one of my daydreams was about playing with the baby or decorating the nursery or even about the physics of squeezing something the size of a watermelon out of my vagina, I would get sucked into my thoughts for hours. Colossal wastes of time, perhaps, but I found the daydreaming to be soothing. So remember to enjoy those daydreams and not to worry too much about being a forgetful idiot . . . that is, if you even remember this by tomorrow. In fact, you’ll probably read this section over, not even remembering you read it. You airhead!
Mirror, Mirror on the Wall, Who’s the Prettiest Pregnant Lady of Them All? Clearly Not You, Lady!
(Face Acne and Rashes)
Even women blessed from birth with flawless skin can have a hell of a time with breakouts when they’re pregnant. My skin has always been a problem, so I knew I was in trouble. Add to my genetic predisposition the fact that I quit smoking the second I found out I was pregnant. The combination of lack of nicotine and hormonal surges made me look like someone in a bad teenage horror flick.
Not yet understandably afraid of specialists (see page 31 to refresh your memory), I went to the dermatologist desperate to get help. Even he jumped at the sight of me. Unaware of my delicate condition (pregnancy, that is), he offered me a barrage of cool-sounding drugs. But once I informed him of my condition, he laughed and said, “Suck it up, sister.” NOT WHAT I WANTED TO HEAR!
Let me break it down in a little more detail for you. My entire face was filled with little zitty bumps. There wasn’t one open space of good face. To top it all off, I had a red rash that circled each side of my nose down to the middle of each cheek. I was afraid that people who always saw me airbrushed for work would faint at the sight of me. Now, you might be thinking, “That’s so vain.” My answer to that is “Bite me.” I’m human
, and no one likes to be pointed to and laughed at. Because people really were pointing and laughing!
You think that movie critics are harsh, but I find that the public is worse than critics. I’ve actually had people walk up to me on the street and say, “God you look SO much better on TV.” Even though that might be true, no one wants to hear this kind of thing! This just multiplied my fears.
The infamous “pregnancy mask” (called melasm . . . I know because I actually looked it up) is another thing to be feared among pregnant women, though I think stretch marks would win the vote for most feared skin problem (see page 77). The rash that I had was called rosacea. I’m sure you’ve seen the commercial about it. The medicine you take for it causes wet farts. Lovely.
Whether you get the mask or my particular rash, the key to hiding it is obvious: Wear a shitload of make-up or stop caring. Yeah, right. As if that’s easy to do. Still, and as always, there’s a bright side: These things definitely go away after your little chicken hatches. As a matter of fact, my skin totally rocks right now. If you see me on the street, you can make fun of my jiggly ass, but not my smooth skin.
It’s a Bird! It’s a Plane! . . . No, It’s a Really Swollen Pregnant Lady!
(Water Retention)
A s you now know, I wanted to avoid every miserable thing that happens when you’re pregnant, but the swelling was one thing I particularly hoped to dodge. It just really scared me; like with getting fat, people can notice swelling, but unlike with fat, and depending on what body parts swell, you sometimes can’t even hide it with clothing. Let’s be honest—whether you make your living with your appearance and mediagenic-ness or not, swelling is every woman’s nightmare. And looking back on it, I can see that I was worried for very good reason.
Belly Laughs Page 5
