Let’s talk about sex baby, let’s talk about you and me. Let’s talk about all the good things and the bad things that may be (probs shouldn’t start a new blog referencing Salt n Pepa, I’m going to anyway).
Sex? I don’t even remember how to do it. What moves do I use, do I even move at all. I used to love sex, crave it even. I was (past tense, now very tense) a once-a-day kind of woman. Nowadays, I despise it with every fiber of my being. Tell me I am not the only one experiencing this.
Nothing scarier than having sex with the man I love. It’s a bizarre turn of events. Thanks hormones. Is that the price we pay for becoming mothers? or am I just a special kind of human.
Everything hurts, from your vagina to your back, to your head and your crack. It is ridiculous. Don’t even get me started on the back end, is it a fart or a shart, it’s anybody’s guess really.
The pressure in your lady business is real, it feels as if your insides are going to just fall right out of you. Of course, they do not, thanks to a special mechanism known as the uterus, which I have just recently learnt grows to the size of a large watermelon during the peak of baby baking season. To be precise, the standard size is thirty centimeters. Ordinarily it is the size of a pear, fascinating isn’t it.
To add to my own personal discomfort, I had something commonly known as SPD, technical term being symphysis pubis dysfunction. It was hell on wheels. If you are or have experienced this, you know exactly what I’m talking about. If you don’t, you are one lucky bitch.
Working whilst being pregnant is not for the faint hearted. I’m a school teacher and I gave that shit up at 34 weeks. It is hard, so hard. If you don’t have to work ladies, please don’t.
Housework, HA. Don’t make me laugh. Pushing around the Dyson felt like I ran a marathon, the pressure it puts on your pelvis and hips is extraordinary. Enlist the help of a small child, perhaps one you can bribe? Your partner or someone else close to you. I could always cook, wash dishes, do the laundry and clean the bathroom. But I won’t, because I want to bathe in my pregnant and beautiful (milking it) glory for as long as possible.
Sleep. What even is that? Sleep in the first trimester is okay, second is about the same but the third trimester is something else. In my experience I was lucky if I could get 4 hours a night. I would toss and turn profusely, and it is so frustrating. I told me ob gyn about this and he gave me a little pill to help, it worked wonders until I woke up the next day feeling like I’d been out partying all night and suffered a severe hangover the next day. Hard pass buddy.
The crying, now this can happen anytime, anyplace and at anything. A tv show, tears. The dog attempts a high jump maneuver onto the bed and falls on his back, tears. Movies…. don’t even get me started. I was emotional AF when I got pregnant with our little boy and no, I’m not sorry about it. We literally grow skin, hair, nails, organs, blood, ligaments, eyeballs, teeth and that isn’t even half the list. My advice ladies, if anyone dare say anything to you about the entirety above, just clobber them with the nearest throwable item that isn’t expensive.
Love & Light,
MM
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