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God-awful realities of the First Trimester

Soooo, I’ve been MIA lately.

I’m not going to blame it all on the pregnancy, but there is a fetus draining my energy, so there’s that. Oh, yeah, I’m pregnant! 

Sorry, no cutesy announcements since finding out was such a shock that I had everything else but that on my mind.

With my first trimester ending, I wanted to type out a couple of realities of being pregnant. Mind you, this is written by a highly hormonal pregnant lady, so take it with a grain of salt, but I hope another equally anxious, excited, nauseous and petrified pregnant woman finds this post helpful.

Below are my findings for the first trimester:

Being pregnant means you don’t know who you are anymore

The hormonal roller-coaster your body makes you go through is insane. Honesty, the hormones rule my life.

  • I cry watching reality TV shows.
  • I get so “hangry” I am ready to drive around and frequent 3 drive-thrus to get all the fast food my body is craving, as I am coming down with a case of severe road rage and yell at everybody on the road.
  • I come home and fall asleep on the couch at 7 pm. I have no energy to do anything, and no will to go anywhere.
  • My brain is either solely occupied by thoughts of food or thoughts of self-pity as I go through hours of nausea which normally (how appropriate) is the worst when I am at work.

Being pregnant means you have to lie to everyone

This one is though. Sure, usually you share the news with close family, but until you hit that 12-week mark and all the testing is done, you must lie about not being pregnant. In my case, I specially didn’t want them to find out at work.

  • I had to come up with creative ways as to why I wasn’t drinking alcohol at company events.
  • I had to lie about how I was feeling fantastic and how I, in fact, did want to hear everything about the work issues we were having, even though my only though was how to get home asap and sleep. I went to work every day, keeping my head down in my depressing little cube and counted the hours until I got home.
  • I made sure everyone saw me drinking lots of water to justify the amount of times I had to go to the bathroom.
  • I made sure people saw me grabbing chocolates from the candy jar even though the though of sweet food made me nauseous to justify the weight gain.

Being pregnant means everyone has an opinion about your unborn baby

As I started sharing the news of our life-changing event, I learned very quickly that every parent and a friend has an opinion on your unborn baby and how you should do things, what you should buy and essentially follow their advice, otherwise you are a terrible parent. Look, just because I’m a first-time parent doesn’t mean I don’t know how to pick up a book or consult a doctor on topics that are important to me and the baby.

Being pregnant means you forget everything and you drop everything

 I’ve never been this clumsy and messy in my entire life. I think I should start wearing a bib as I somehow manage to get food on my shirt with every meal. Salsa sauce, salad dressing, even regular potatoes end up in my lap.

I also don’t remember anything. I know, they coined a phrase “Mommy brain” I just never believed it was true, until I realized my short-term memory is essentially going to be worthless throughout my pregnancy and I should start relying on a pen and paper if I want to keep my job, and my husband. Poor David, he tells me so many things and I just forget them all.

Being pregnant means you stop caring

It’s quite liberating, really.

When most of my energy is used up to get myself in that increasingly tight work clothing, I realized that caring -about anything at all- is an exquisite, delicate and highly valuable feeling that doesn’t come along much.

  • I stopped caring that my legs looked like little hedgehogs in my gym clothing, or that I let one rip while picking myself up at the gym. (On a side note, flatulence and pregnancy go hand in hand so no need to feel in any way, shape or form less of a lady when your trumpet goes off).
  • I stopped caring about family drama, gossip or other petty life situations my life would usually be inundated with.
  • I stopped yelling at David for not picking up his pants of the floor, or for leaving the dishes in the sink. Heck, I joined him. When I get home, I take all my clothing off and leave it on the floor. It is addictively liberating.

I decided to care just about the things I truly, truly have the energy to deal with.

With all that happens to you while you are pregnant, there is a light, well, more so a high frequency sound wave that makes your heart sing with joy. Seeing your growing baby on the screen is just about the highlight of all the misery you are going through.

Now about you, dear reader. What have your experiences been? Write them in the comment section below! 😊

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Luckily, my Mom is on Facebook.

I know kids these days don’t know what Facebook is or they roll their eyes and say it is SO passé. But I still use it as it’s been a part of my life since 2007 – woah, 9 years!- and I’ve stuck with every layout change that they made, specially in the first five years before they kind of decided to stick with the timeline format.

Of course, the usage of my Facebook greatly changed throughout the years. I was much younger and more naive 9 years ago and therefore the posts were age appropriate. I have since, as might be expected, deleted quite a few but all in all my posts were/are alright.

Around 2010 (2011?), my Mom joined Facebook and as many others, I dreaded adding her to MY Facebook. Gosh, these are my private thoughts I share on the internet with my friends, not my MOM! What should I do? Add her or block her? After a week of listening to her whining that we are truly not friends if we are not Facebook friends I decided to add her.

My Facebook posts have changed since. I think twice about what I write or think twice about who am I arguing with about a certain hot issue (btw, never get into arguments on Facebook, they are a complete waste of time and pointless!).

I guess it is safe to say that since my Mom joined Facebook, I think twice about what I say or do because I do not want her to see her daughter act like an idiot or say something stupid. Not that I do that often, but it happens. It happens to all of us and we should all be happy we have our Moms as Facebook friends- internet is not a public diary and we don’t want them to find out every detail of our lives. Or do we?

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Only 2 questions 25+ yrs old women in a relationship get asked these days

It started when my relationship with David became “serious.” You know, he met my family, we moved in and he knew I don’t shave in the winter and was OK with that. Serious. So naturally, Sunday dinners with my family had to become a common place to harass David and I with relationship questions.

1.) So when are you getting married?

I think I heard this question more often than I heard Britney Spears’s “Hit me baby one more time” hit on the radio in 1999. Why do you care if we get married? Why should we get married? Are we even ready to be married? We didn’t have answers to these questions, and we didn’t think about marriage. We liked spending time together and that was enough.

A few years later, my “clock” started ticking- at least in the eyes of everybody around me. I certainly didn’t feel any need to have a child and yet everybody else wanted me to have one.

2.) When are you having kids?

I was probably as annoyed with this question as Bill Clinton was with the question “if he ever had sexual relations with Monica Lewinsky.” I mean, give it a rest. Am I a woman? Yes. Do I have a vagina? Yes. Can my vagina make babies? Yes. Do I have to make babies? NO! Just because nature gave me a vagina with the ability to use it, doesn’t mean I have to (use it). I don’t make stupid faces and sounds when I see children. Honestly, I find puppies to be much cuter. Fluffier. And less of a hassle. But it doesn’t mean I walk around asking people if they have adopted puppies yet.

Maybe I will get married one day, and maybe I will have kids. But can you please stop asking me these questions? Why don’t you ask me if I have finally decided to volunteer at a shelter? Helped with a singing recital in a home for the elderly? Perhaps if I have helped tutoring English at a local high school? Why are those not more important questions, I ask you?

P.S: Not baby related, but here’s my book on Amazon which tells the story of an American student doing a study abroad in France. Please check it out and thanks for reading my blog!

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