Having just reached part two of pregnancy (the second trimester) I have been going through quite a lot of changes. Some are exciting, some are awful, but all in all, I have been amazed at how similar pregnancy can be to puberty. Don’t believe me? Well, then clearly you have never been a teenager, or pregnant.
16 going on 21
The first thing that happens is you can't wait to tell everyone your big news. It's like being 15 and 3 quarters, desperate to be 16 because it's just SO much cooler. Much like a teenager can’t wait to grow up, you can’t wait for your pregnancy to ‘grow’. Then the second you hit your three month milestone (the end of the first trimester), your sights are set on the next goal post - 18 (weeks) and your next antenatal appointment where you get to see your growing bundle of love on the screen again.
My guess is it doesn't change till you reach the '21' of pregnancy (birth), realize you are now an adult with all the adult sized bills and responsibilities, and wish you could stuff your baby back up there and go back to being 15 and 3 quarters again.
Never since your terrible teens have your hormones been so demonic. And you can't really blame them. The poor things have been used to a nice cushy desk job for the past decade, or more, running your body like a well oiled machine. Pregnancy is a Corporate Giant takeover. A new boss is in town, and B.A.B.Y.Incorporated has your hormones slaving away in a sweatshop day and night, night and day - leaving no thought for you, your husband, family or friends. But even though you are chained to that desk, you do have something to look forward to: A massive managerial promotion to Motherhood in plus minus 9 months time. Lets hope you read the fine-print.
You know how teenagers can sleep for days as their bodies grow, and only move to eat and watch series on their laptops? Welcome to Round 2 of slovenlyhood! Not only are your hormones working overtime, but your entire body is preparing for the big event right from the get go. B.A.B.Y.Inc. takes priority and gets all pistons firing away at full speed, which is exhausting.
Even while you are sleeping, your body is building away furiously, getting that quota in before dawn - and you wake up even more tired than before you went to bed! You also wake up STARVING, thanks to depleted energy supplies – but good luck finding something you can eat.
They say it's like climbing a mountain every day. I think it's more like living in The Hunger Games arena, never catching your breath, never getting a break, never knowing what horror awaits you next. (Projectile vomiting while brushing your teeth? Overnight teen-like acne? Belly-fluff? Never ending lower back (and front) spasms? Constant gas?!) Just writing this makes me feel the need for a nap to get away - BUT. YOU. CAN. NEVER. GET. AWAY.
Yet you try, and your pillow becomes the sweetest place on earth. Not that you need a bed - you can pretty much fall asleep anywhere; sitting upright in the office; while on the loo having your sixtieth pee for the day; at your best friends birthday party...in your car while waiting for a particularly long red robot to go green. (#TrueStory)
You can't do anything. And it pisses you off! No booze, no sushi, no almond oil (who knew?) no champagne, no soft cheeses, no massages, no wine, no biltong, nothing ‘tartar’, no deserts or sauces made with raw egg, no pain meds, no anti-inflammatories, no coffee, no skiing, no off-roading, no single malts, no medium-rare, no sprouts, no no no and did I mention no booze?
It's like pregnancy is the mark of a looser and you're the only one not allowed at the party. Even if you do sneak in with a fake-ID and well disguised outfit, ("This old thing? I just threw it on"...to hide the baby bump...) and the worst intentions, you still fall asleep by 8.15pm and miss out on all the fun.
You develop a sharp displeasure with everything and everybody around you. Co-workers, Facebook and car guards invoke a wrath unlike you have ever felt before, and you have no idea why. That fuse is clipped so tight that you go from one to furious (or tears) in 3.2seconds, and whoa betide the innocent bystander who ate your yogurt cup.
Silly things suddenly become extremely important and rant-worthy. Even if you manage to contain your impending outbursts, that doesn't mean the melt down isn't happening on the inside. You might think my usual sweet natured self is contemplating your (*stupid, *dumbass) question, but I'm actually counting to ten and gritting my teeth, waiting it out till I know it's safe for me to answer. Husband calls it 'The Tone' - I call it Pregnancy.
No I'm not fat - I'm just a little bit pregnant!
Forget Transformers - hips are WAY more impressive! This body you once knew so well starts morphing long before a clear-case preggie-belly makes its debut, and The Pod Person of Kimmie K emerges. Your bits are growing while your pelvic bones are shifting, and the slim line silhouette you once knew is no more. But you don't quite look pregnant yet, so most people assume you've just been enjoying the Whacky Wednesday special at Steers five Wednesday's a week. Even though the truth is you've been living on a steady diet of cold, boiled egg-white and chicken broth because you can’t keep anything else down.
You can either fight it, or embrace it. Because I'm a glass is half full kind of girl, I prefer to embrace any physical changes that require shopping for a new outfit. A quote I like from Accidentally On Purpose puts it perfectly: "My proportions are shifting slightly and require new levels of fabulousness.”
T&A - Everything is SEX (Good - if you can get it)
I’m talking boobs, ass, and hormonal side effects that should be bottled and sold as a female libido booster. I'm not entirely sure why nature added this little feature because, let's face it, you already are knocked up so there's no need for further procreation - but it's a nice added bonus none-the-less. Something about increased blood volume and sensitivity makes for all kinds of fun, and 50 Shades doesn’t hold a candle to your new improved dream life as they become vivid and pornographic. Assuming I can stay awake long enough to bestow it all on lucky Husband, it’s the best pre-meditated game any playa ever brought!
Also, much like a sprouting teen sends the pimple faced Biebers on heat, the milkshake sure does bring all the boys to the yard. Before they realize I'm sporting this seasons B.A.B.Y.Inc. bump, they flirt shamelessly with my mesmerizing, hormone filled, pheromone radiating cleavage. Let’s play a game. The 'Thank You For Sending Over This Potent Looking Cocktail But I'm Married And Impregnated, So You Drink It' game. While I go home to take a nap.
Young and Stupid
You know how when you were an adolescent you did some seriously stupid things? And looking back you're all like 'WHAT was I thinking!?' Well, get ready for that again. Something seems to short-circuit in your brain while B.A.B.Y.Inc. is in charge, and you can't even remember where you put your toothbrush. You can’t navigate hometown streets anymore, forget all vital ingredients to your favourite recipes and start to make irrational snap decisions that you tend to forget the ‘why’ before you even finish the task.
You fight with people you never meant to hurt, and you listen to snake-oil-salesmen you normally never would give the time of day. Then when a loved one tries to intercept and help guide you away from making yet another mistake, your response could be misunderstood for homicidal tendencies. Or just a torrent of tears. Ai tog.
Cheer up, I am told that being a teen again, the preggie-round, only lasts for 9 months.