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It's like this, and like that....

I started this blog in an effort to track my experiences with pregnancy and beyond. Writing is therapeutic. Kind of like talking to myself without the people in WalMart thinking I'm crazy. If you find some entertainment in this along the way, then even better!

This is one woman's journey through unfathomable hunger, vivid sex dreams and a bulging belly...from conception to birth in 9 months or less...

Up 8 lbs, Down a Sense of Balance and Mastering the Art of Uncontrollable Irrational Crying...

Friday, October 16, 2009
So ya, pregnancy hey. Guess what else it messes with? Your centre of gravity. And you know, OBVIOUSLY, but stupid me, I thought this happened somewhere around the time I stopped being able to shave my own legs or see my feet. I didn't think it would happen so soon...or so violently. 

I fell down the stairs this morning...with a bang. And not only did I fall, I fell violently, with a vengeance. I fell with such force that it woke my husband up, he who sleeps through even the loudest of activities, and scared the crap out of the dog. I also scared the crap out of myself. It was early, and because summer has been sucked out of the sky the way my Dyson sucks up dust bunnies, it was pitch black. The dog was groggy, I had lied in bed since 445am, tossing and turning and just waiting out the ornery sound of the alarm, and I was tired. It was dark, I was tired and I missed the last 2 steps on my way down. 

Now, I have a habit of counting stairs. There are 9 from the yard to the door, 12 up to the second floor and another 14 up to my bedroom. With 37 chance to take a tumble, it's surprising this is the first time it's happened. I may be pregnant now, but I'm klutzy all the time. This morning, for some reason, I didn't count. I walked blindly down the dark stairs, and I missed a couple. 

So I crashed. And I crashed hard. As I lay there, in the dark, stifling my tears and listening to the dog shake and chattered in hiding, I tried to be quiet. Mortified, I didn't want my husband to come down to see what happened. I hoped I could move on, and pretend the crash hadn't occured. I neglected to realize of course that, when you cause a commotion of the proportions I did, you can't just hide it. He heard the crash, and the thump, and then he laid there waiting to hear me get up and move around. And when I didn't, he of course came flying down the stairs, completely sure he'd find me unconscious at the bottom of the steps. 

Instead he found me, in the dark, pretending not to cry. I tried to shake it off, but honestly I can't stop crying these days and seeing him there, concerned about me, just made it come on full force. Not to mentioned I was mortified and could feel my cheeks turning redder than the Canadian flag. 

I did eventually shake it off, I stood up, brushed my tears away and went about my day. I let the dog out, I walked up and down the stairs, from 1st to 3rd floors, in only the slightest amount of pain. I worried briefly about Herm (which is the term for my gestating baby  Him + Her = Herm. My girlfriend got Shim, and I get Herm), but soon realized that while I embarrassed and battered myself, Herm is safely wedge in there, surrounded by amniotic fluid, and likely just annoyed that he was awoken with such a thud. 

I thought I was ok. I thought, hey I fell but it's not so bad, I think I'll be ok. I drive to work, dropping off my husband and even walking the dog to my friends. I park the car and walk 4 blocks to work in the pouring rain, I go up and down the stairs 3 times to get coffee, and use the washroom and I am fundamentally fine. Feeling like a disaster, a disaster with a protruding belly and an ever increasing loss of self control, but a disaster that can walk none the less. 

Then I had a conference call, and sat for an hour without moving. I sat for an hour without moving, and when I stood up to use the washroom, I painfully realized I was not ok. I put pressure on my ankle and was shot back in my chair with the force of a shot gun blast. I couldn't stand. 

I cried out, and my friend who works with me came running. I was a mess. I was dizzy, I was in pain and worst of all, I just wanted to CRY. But I irrationally spent all of yesterday morning crying at work, so I was trying to refrain. 

After an attempt at icing and working through it, I had to go home. I had to have a coworker bring his car around, and take me home. I had to have my girlfriend wheel me from the office, to the elevator and out the front door in her office chair, and then hop and hobble my way to the car. And even better, when I got home, I had to have my coworker physically carry me up those 9 front stairs, so I could get into the house. I've gained 8 lbs and I had to ask my co-worker to CARRY ME up my stairs, so I could get in the house. 

I've spent the rest of the day, hopping around on one foot, driving my tenants crazy, and having to carefully consider how badly I need to use the washroom. I am starving and dehydrated, home without my car or my dog, and stuck with 1 foot in a house full of stairs. My husband isn't home, and he is legitimately out taking care of something so he can't even be here to help me. 

And did I mention, I can't stop crying? 

I love this little baby, I love this baby more than I can believe, but the combination of my cantaloupe sized uterus, the hormone induced loose ligaments and my ever raging hormones, has me falling down and in tears. And this further plays into the fact that I am never ever going to wear pregnancy with grace. Instead, I'm wearing it like a train wreck. 

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