Notice the difference of color of my tummy from my arms. This bump stays hidden when I’m venturing out in the world but quite the opposite when I’m home.
Which leads to my first obnoxious pregnancy behavior!
- I find no shame in letting my belly hang loose and free at home. If I had a choice, I would walk in my sports bra all day but that might traumatize my nephew. Now you might say that this is an acceptable behavior in the privacy of my home, right? Except I do this in the front yard for all the neighbors to see as well. Well, not in my sports bra or anything but I’ll just lift whatever shirt I have on to expose my belly. I do this because clothes feel restrictive on my growing belly—I’m talking oversized t-shirts too—and will just lift up my shirt to let it breathe.
- I fart. So. Much. Luckily it rarely stinks (I naturally have non-stinky farts!) but when it does, I run from it like an immature child. Yup, I run from my own farts AND will blame it on everyone and everything else. Inanimate objects included.
- I eat like a slob. Omgoodness I eat like a freaking slob now! Maybe I’ve always eaten like a slob and my belly wasn’t there to catch whatever food fell from my plate/mouth/wherever but I have stained just about every clothes I own.
- Nobody will admit it but I think I’ve turned into some evil tyrant. You can find me requesting the dumbest things because I’m pregnant, heavy, and
can’t don’t want tolazy. For example, I’ve lost count of the many times I’ve asked little T to go in my room to retrieve something today alone. Why? The stairs. I hate the stairs. Water? If I’m upstairs someone else is getting it for me. You want to refuse my simple (yet annoying) request? I will throw a fit and will probably cry because you don’t love me enough to get the heavy, pregnant wife/mom a cup of water.
- Dude, I cry over everything now! Now I am far from being depressed but my sensitivity level has shot up sky high since my hormones decided to go pregnancy mode on me. You know that meme of the woman crying with her hand on her forehead? I feel like her 60/60/24/7/12/365.
- This one is extremely TMI but I have tried strenuously to take a peek at where the sun don’t shine a couple of times… and failed. I probably cried over that too… I don’t remember.
- You can remind me to do something like make a dentist appointment for little T and I will forget. Over and over and over again until three weeks later. Or the laundry in the dryer that everyone in the house has to get out and fold for me to have it delivered to my room because I always forget the last load of laundry. Always.
- I’ve turned into a garbage disposal. I’m always hungry and will complain about having ate so much because I can hardly breathe… only to eat again once I am able to breathe.
- Ariel and I rarely argue. We’ll argue maybe once or twice in a year over something really dumb and will immediately make up. We haven’t slept angry with each other before but it has happened twice—one week apart— this past month because one, he wouldn’t paint my toenails and two, my imagination went crazy, psycho woman and I thought he called me fat. I’d like to blame him and say it was all him but honestly? I over exaggerated so hardcore it’s not even funny. What’s even more pathetic is I couldn’t remember why I was angry with him a few hours into arguing and would have to sit there and try to recall the reason. Yes, feel sorry for Ariel folks…
- Oh, and I’ve become so fascinated of my growing boobies. Need I say more?
Any other pregnant women out there turn into a monster like me? Please, share your story! It’ll make me feel better… and normal. :)
P.S. The photo is of little T and I warming up for our daily yoga.