This whole tiredness thing is weird. In the early weeks, I was sleepy most of the time (and sick). I don’t remember having much extra energy during the second trimester, but I think I did sleep a bit less. Now I am tired and slow, my body is heavy and it aches a lot. I never made a conscious decision to go slow or sleep more for the sake of the baby; it was just what my body wanted, and that’s the thing, I’m now controlled by whatever my body decides it needs. Sometimes this is more literal than others; if I walk too fast, I get braxton-hicks contractions, which are uncomfortable, bordering on painful. I have to stop until they pass. I know I’ve never been the world’s most energetic walker, but it’s pretty strange to be taking half an hour to walk around the block.
I am whiny and demanding all the damn time, and must be pushing Pete to the limits of his very good nature, but he doesn’t complain so I don’t know how much I’m pissing him off. Since really early on, it has been impossible to forget about being pregnant for a moment. It is branded on my body and in my mind, the first thing I think about when I wake up every day. There is very little that is absorbing enough to distract me from the Presence. I am operating on instinct, struggling to filter all the information and kindly-meant advice; to decide what we actually need and what is just nonsense (one book reminds me to take curling tongs to hospital). Even with a virtually symptomless pregnancy, it would be hard to breeze through as though nothing was happening; and who has a symptomless pregnancy? It’s not because I’ve always wanted to have a child, and have leapt into the pregnant mindset with a yell of delight; I never expected this to happen to me, and I had no idea that the existence of this creature inside would swallow up every other aspect of Me.
Pregnancy and future-motherhood obsesses me, and I worry about excluding Pete, and suddenly realise that I have made a whole string of decisions without even mentioning them to him. It’s hard to know whether he is happy enough to let me do the worrying, or if he would rather be more involved in the nitty gritty of what colour muslin sheets we get. He just sees the parcels as they get delivered by magic, and occasionally I tell him where I have put the contents, just in case he needs to get access to them at some point. It’s very hard to think our baby, our pregnancy, rather than MINE, because it’s all happening inside me. He did his bit, and just has to wait a few months, occasionally rubbing my back, until the screaming starts. Then I might be a bit keener to share…
This is of course a gross oversimplification of the involvement of Pete. He’s not just the man with the sperm and the magic back-rubs. His enthusiasm and the interest he takes in the whole process at least make me feel like my obsession is not entirely freakish. He protects me from overbearing family and smokey pubs, and orders pizza when I am too whelmed to cook. He has a very nice smile.
There’s a girl in work who’s pregnant, she just went on maternity leave yesterday. In the last month or two she has gone from being pregnant to pregnant to PREGNANT. She was commenting about being tired all the about 2/3rds of the way into the pregnancy and I remarked she shouldn’t be surprised, she is carrying an actual person around inside all the time, and that people are quite heavy, even the very small ones. And in the first year or so they double in weight, so she better get used to it. She seemed to take it well.
I want a baby too (as well as a garden and a van I mean). I might need a bit of help though.