april

So, this baby making business is all fun and games til someone gets kicked. Then it is mostly fun and games with a little, “ooo, that’s uncomfortable” and a lot of indigestion and fear for continence. I think back to just a few short months ago when I was drinking pretty heavily (again) and I wonder, “who in the HELL chooses to keep such weird hours and knowingly imbibes enough to cause gastric discomfort? NEVER AGAIN!” I have been really putting a lot of my energy into fortifying my resolve to stay sober for the rest of my life- yes- even after saying “no thanks” isn’t as easy as now (being pregnant makes a difference to me, maybe not all women, but it sure as shit makes a WORLD of difference. TO. ME.)
I needed to find something that’s got an edge of humor to remind me of why I’ll stay sober later and I think tonight I’ve just had that epiphany. Seriously, I would stay up super late, get 5 hours of sleep or less on an average night, get up tired and hungover, usually remembering some time praising the porcelain deity with choruses of “Raaaaaalph” in varied keys from some point in the debauchery, getting through my day while TIRED, and I was always mad that pepto was my closest friend in public. And I CHOSE that. Yep. Now, I am happily without the sauce, and I go to bed at a boringly reasonable hour and wake up refreshed and feel FANTASTIC.
BUT-
We are entering the third trimester. The “trimester of mean” as our family doctor likes to call it. I’m learning that my son will definitly assert himself as a man who does things on his own time- he is already forcefully rearranging my sleep schedule. Nothing gets you awake and out of bed more effectively than a quick jab to the bladder (which doesn’t even need to feel full for there to be fear of leaks when you’re facing the impact of a spry, thin, young, statistically 2+ pound little man who seems to have mancave issues and is commanding respect from an early age- so as not to be taken lightly later in his formative years.) He will be a stern man, with a develish streak.
So paint the scene opening with one such jolt from the bed, a quick trip to the bathroom, a bedside lamp being turned on, a girl in braided hair holding an ever growing (and currently twitching) belly. Introduce the bedside table view with a close up on the bottle of ambien and the tums smoothies clustered next to the prenatal vitamins, a bottle of water, and a midnight snack of some sort.
This is WAY better than the drunk nights, and there are far more perks. For one- even if I have to sit up and wait out the belching, spleen assaults, and other lovely side effects of growing one’s own spawn- at least I get to feel the peanut move! (And there are no other drunk bitches in my space!) And I have a reward coming soon for all my patience. And the most difficult physical stressors will expire here in another few short months/weeks. And. And. And. Seriously… list goes on!
I’ll catch up on some reading and remember how much better THIS late night is than any I’ve had while inebriated HANDS DOWN.
Also- I am thinking about writing an ambiguous love song that could apply to my feelings about tums smooth dissolve peppermint magic. Something old-timey-swing with a bit of flair on some nice scoopy parts to help bring in some emotional depth.
Thank you, and good night. :)