The world breaks everyone, and afterward, many are strong at the broken places. ~ Ernest Hemingway
There are sooo many bizarre and annoying things that happen in the third trimester of a pregnancy that no one warns you about until you're there. Google insights ain't got nothing on the friend who says, "Yeah that happened to me too. I just didn't want to scare you so I didn't mention it." What?! Where were you when it was happening at 2am and all I had was a computer, symptom and my tear ducts? I need to be warned of any and all oddities just in case I, too, end up experiencing that ish.
Mention it people! Mention the hemorrhoids you have to name and pray to. Mention the cramps and the not sleeping and all of the joyful reasons why you can't sleep and the nightmares about your baby being born pregnant.
...How pent up farts will rock your house and cause you to fear early labor or your husband divorcing you because he never said nothing at all in his vows about putting up with the bog of eternal stench making home in your ass or even worse than all of those outcomes--a shart.
Also mention that it may suck for you to dress yourself if you don't submit to a girly ass pregnancy mentality. Where is all the tomboy maternity gear? Can't a woman just spread eagle without fear that someone's staring at her baby's forehead? (My kid chills super low. I know she's a fart away from saying howdy. Did I mention I fart... a lot?) I hate dresses and I hate pink and I don't like maternity designers. I wear my husband's gear.
Have I mentioned Mark hates me?
No one mentioned these things to me when I was trying to get pregnant...when I assumed feeling "fat" was the only thing I'd have to contend with.
So now I am thankful for the Erin and the Jen and the Vikkie who text with me and share hilarious, but truthful anecdotes on new motherhood. We ask questions...we lift each other up. We laugh. We're inappropriate and brave enough to share the not so flattering parts of our daily thoughts. It's so helpful. I find myself sending encouragement and reminding myself to do the same once I'm in a similar situation. I'm also thankful for Amy effing Poehler who wrote THE book on motherhood. I mean it was Amy who said, "It's easier to be brave when you're not alone."
I am not alone. Chicks may never have mentioned that weird bruises could possibly show up around my belly button because I've stretched too thin, but somehow the good ones showed up just in time to save me from the Googling "you have cancer and/or you're dying" doom of all dooms. Find your crew. Share a really gnarly fact about poop or hairy nipples and see how they react. If the response you get chills you out and reminds you that billions of women have done this for thousands of years then you've found home. If they listen to you discuss your broken places and commend and remind you of your strength then try to do one of the following:
suggestion a: convince them to move with you to a commune and live happily ever after.
suggestion b: name a child after one or all of them (Jerrinkkie?)
suggestion c: write a blog post or email and make sure they all read it.
38 weeks, five days Tish