I have a fun new job chronicling my pregnancy at Momtastic. Here’s my first installment. There will be a new post up on Momtastic each Thursday.
For two and a half years, I wished on every star, eyelash, and birthday candle that I would get pregnant. I had almost lost hope of giving my daughter a sibling when boom: two pink lines. I was blissed out on baby dust for a solid week. Then, the symptoms kicked in and my gratitude was replaced by round-the clock complaining.
“Kill me now,” I moaned to my husband recently, after bowing to the porcelain throne. “Didn’t you, um, want to be pregnant?” He reminded me. “Desperately?” I did. I do! But I was under the mistaken notion that the second pregnancy would be somehow easier. Muscle memory would be on my side.
Instead, I have all the symptoms from round one plus a whole new batch of so-weird-I-have-to-Google-it ailments. For instance, cotton mouth, the likes of which I have not experienced since college, when my roommate had a bong. I’ve created a tropical eco system on my side of the bed with a humidifier and a case of electrolyte-enhanced bottled water, and I’m still waking up parched.
Below the waist, it’s the opposite. I’m borderline incontinent, and really wondering if I should just keep a stash of Depends next to the Pampers Swaddlers. I’ve also got a rash, from – get this — my thighs rubbing together. It’s very attractive, and probably here to stay thanks to the freakish fall heat waves we’ve been having in Los Angeles.
Story continues at Momtastic…