Week 23: Let the wild rumpus start

So, pregnancy hormones. They’re weird and sudden, abrupt and at times, rude. On any given day, I’m pretty sure I function quite normally in my pleasantly plump state. You might even say that I actually enjoy being pregnant. But since we’re speaking candidly here, I can’t lie: I can be a lunatic and suffer temporary insanity, too. (I can’t believe I just admitted that.)
Try as I might to curb my sharp tongue or some overly sensitive feelings, it doesn’t always work out quite so seamlessly. And after trying to correct it by backpedaling or rewording what wasn’t meant to be so cutting, sometimes I can’t, and I throw in the towel and have a good cry. Because every now and then, you just need a good cry, amiright?
On the receiving end, it’s easier to take things out of context and to take things way more personally than I probably should have. There are days when it suddenly feels like I’ve turned into everyone’s punching bag. In my defense (and the defense of other pregnant ladies around), how could I not be a little crazy? There’s a whole other person inside of me. My body will never look or function the same again. I’m starting to waddle. I am only allowed one cup of coffee a day when I sometimes feel like I need an entire pot of it. And all I want is a hug or backrub or silence (and ice cream … lots of ice cream).
Of course, in hindsight, I am laughing about this, but when I’m having a moment—God help those around me. I kid (sort of). There’s just so much change occurring simultaneously, and a constant flux of hormonal changes doesn’t exactly keep everything level. On top of the physicalities that pregnancy brings, there is, of course, the emotional side that comes with it. Mix those two together, and things sometimes get weird! It’s not difficult to keep the hormones at bay, but there are those times when they rear their heads (no pun intended) and nothing seems to go right.
Then, I remind myself that in the grand timeline of life, this bizarre blip is so small compared to what happens in the end. That at the end of this pregnancy, I will have physical and tangible proof of something that Jesse and I created together. We can hold him and smell him, hug him and kiss him. Never mind what other roadblocks might lie ahead—sleepless nights, restless days, incessant crying and general newborn difficulties—they’re all part of it.
It’s been said that having children is one of the most selfless things someone can do. After all, there is so much that changes, and many feel that a part of themselves get lost forever, never to be reclaimed again. While I understand that point, I can’t fully agree with that simply because I personally feel that having children can also be a selfish act in that we’ve made another generation of miniature versions of ourselves. (Am I the only one who feels this way?) In any case, growing a baby is hard work. It’s beautiful, challenging, humbling and disarming. And it’s exactly what we signed on for.