I am the Rudy Ruttiger of gestation.
Only instead of Notre Dame football it’s pregnancy.
And instead of being carried off the field I’ll be having a baby.
And instead of having the crap kicked out of me on the scout team I’m having the crap kicked out of me by the nausea.
And instead of a movie with a stirring soundtrack I have a blog and an iPod loaded with lots of Miley Cyrus.
I love being pregnant. I love the thought of it. The priviledge of it. The power of it. The honor of it. The belly. The boobs.
But I suck at it. It just plain kicks my ass to be honest.
It has always bothered me when women say they hate or hated being pregnant or when they would make statements such as “GET THIS KID OUT OF ME!” They look forward to scheduled inductions weeks ahead of schedule to keep themselves comfortable and convenienced.
I’m not going to spend very many days of my life pregnant, so the ones I do have? I’m going to enjoy.
Even if I do spend them uncomfortable and sick.
This will all be over so quickly.
Yep, I’ve complained, and I’ll probably continue to on occasion.
No one is ever going to be excited about consistently feeling awful.
But I can see the silver lining. Well, the soft cotton lining with contrast piping.
My Anna emailed me when she was hugely pregnant with twins and said “I am happy that these kids are growing stronger each day I keep them in my belly.”
225 days to go until I have a real live Hoosier of my very own.
a gift from fellow hoosier transplant emily.