a letter to my belly

Dear Pregnancy,

It’s been a rocky road from the beginning, hasn’t it? We haven’t always seen eye to eye, and yet I’ve consistently bent to your will. I keep telling myself how it’s all worth it and there isn’t anything you can throw at me that I can’t take. Extreme exhaustion? Subconjunctival hemorrhages? Inability to eat a full meal? Bleeding? Done. Nausea and vomiting? Meh. Everyone’s doing it. Granted, they aren’t doing it well into month FIVE, but, hey, you want to make this a real challenge? Go ahead. Oh, you want me to actually wake up in the middle of the night with the nausea? Fine. Bring it. But then, Pregnancy, you started in on the blemishes. I thought we had talked about this. The face was off-limits, remember? I do realize you are sticking to one very specific area of the face, but that doesn’t make this any easier for me. Still, I’ve stuck with you. I’ve made excuses for you to my ever-patient husband and have done my best to not cry in front of you. I have waited months and months for all the wonderful things that I heard in pregnancy fairy tales—energy, full and healthy hair, maternal glow, the second trimester of wonderfulness, and the nesting. Those stories about this being the best and most wonderful and seriously most blessed time of my life? Lies. Also, if one more person tells me about how when they were pregnant they "felt more like a woman than any other time in their life" or how "they loved loved loved being pregnant" or how "pregnancy was the easiest and most wonderful thing that ever happened to them" I will very likely smack them.

However, whatever truce we had has now come to an abrupt end. As I’m sure you’re well aware, the happenings on the top of my head are just about pushing me over the edge. Dandruff? Are you even kidding me? And the greasy build-up of seven weeks of camping? What gives, Pregnancy? This in no way resembles the healthy and luxurious locks I was promised in Laurel class. I’ve tried to be patient, I really have. I’ve taken your beatings and waddled on with a smile. But now? Well, if you were an actual person I’d give you the stink-eye and a powerful uppercut. I have no idea why people agree to do this more than once, except, I totally do because I know I would. Consider this a challenge, you mischievous mixed blessing, you. You can’t beat me. I will triumph. Do your worst. I’m totally going to rock these final 99 days. Or at least wear headbands and hats.

(Wait, you’ve already done your worst, right? We’re past the hard part, aren’t we? Hello? Pregnancy? Call me!)

Jennifer