Today we’re going back over 10 years, to when I was pregnant with Little Man. I was a bundle of nerves during that pregnancy, and let me tell you, between the pregnancy hormones, my tendency to have mood swings whether I’m pregnant or not, and being tightly wound from the anxiety, I wasn’t always the funnest person to be around.
My husband is probably going to think that is the understatement of the year when he reads this, and you guys might think the same by the time you reach the end of this post. I’m not one to cry much — unless I’m watching Disney Pixar films, and then I can’t stop the waterworks — but I would cry over just about anything while I was pregnant..
My husband and I had only been married for a year when we got pregnant with Little Man. We decided that I was going to be a stay-at-home-mom, so one of the things I did during my pregnancy was try to improve my cooking skills. This didn’t go very well for me, which you already know if you’ve read the Mommy Started The Fire post.
One day I decided to make stir fry, which included cooking a bag of frozen vegetables. The instructions said that I only needed a little bit of water to make the veggies, and I thought that was a mistake, since I’d never seen anyone cook veggies that weren’t covered in water (unless they were fried) before. (Dear 23-year-old me — steaming exists.)
My husband assured me that the veggies would turn out fine if I followed the recipe. Three minutes into cooking, I was convinced that he was wrong and got super upset about my plan of making a good supper being ruined.
Let’s just say that my husband was pretty bewildered with this. After he calmed me down and I got myself together, I cleaned up the mess and got a new packet of veggies. I cooked them according to the instructions, and guess what? The instructions were correct. I just needed to have a little more trust in both the people in charge of putting recipes on the back of frozen food packs and my husband.
In addition to being a sucky cook, I’m also terrible at driving places. I have a hard time remembering where things are, my brain doesn’t do directions, and I tend to panic when I’m trying to go somewhere new. If Driving Under the Influence of Stupidity charges were a thing, I wouldn’t have a license at this point.
One day I had to drive somewhere in the town I lived in and got lost. I tried using the GPS I got for Christmas, but it didn’t help because it told me to turn on a road that didn’t exist. I had never felt so betrayed before in my life — we waited in line at 5AM on Black Friday to get that GPS for a bargain, and it did this?! In a state of panic, I called up my husband, who was at work.
He was more amused than bewildered this time, especially when he asked why I didn’t use my GPS, and I told him that there was an attempt. He later told me that after he told a couple of guys at work that I was lost again, they also asked why I didn’t use my GPS (they were aware of my tendency to call and ask how to go places) and had a good laugh over it.
There was more than one teary shopping incident during that pregnancy (there is no worse feeling than knowing you have to walk to the back of Walmart during the ninth month), but for this post, I’ll focus on the one that left a cashier kinda freaked out.
This was during the last trimester of my pregnancy. I went grocery shopping at Aldi and had the cart loaded up. During checkout, I got out my debit card to pay, and when I swiped my card, it asked for my PIN. I started to enter it, but then my mind completely blanked — I didn’t have a clue what the number was. Thanks, pregnancy brain.
The store was mostly empty and there was no one else in my line, so the cashier didn’t have a problem with me calling my husband to get the number. Unfortunately, he didn’t answer, which caused me to freak out a bit. I then called my grandmother to see if she had any idea what my PIN was, but she didn’t since she had no reason to know.
Cue the tears.
You guys would have been crying, too, if you had Aldi’s danish pastries in your cart and had to leave them behind. I’m only focusing on LM’s pregnancy for this post, but if I had opened it up to tear-fests during Baby Girl’s pregnancy, I’d write about the time I angry cried over the ice cream store being out of cookies and cream. Pregnant women don’t play when it comes to sweets.
I didn’t figure out the PIN while I was there. I had to leave the cart and wait for my husband to get back to me before I could pay for those groceries. Y’all better believe that I avoided eye contact when I eventually went back in. Good times, those pregnancy days.
When Candy at Geek Mamas suggested that I should’ve saved the poop story from yesterday for today, the P day, I told her that I already had planned to write about pregnancy. That reminded me of something that combines the pregnancy and pooping worlds: The Fear.
There comes a moment during pregnancy when a woman makes a realization. Much like the, “Wow, I don’t even know this little leech yet, but I really love him!” moment, women also experience a, “Holy shit, I could poop during delivery!” moment. The Fear. That moment isn’t nearly as joyous as the former.
I was into the second trimester when I realized that it was possible that I could poop while trying to deliver my child.
I could see it happening plain as day — I’d be in the final stages of my drug-free delivery (lol) and instead of pushing out a baby, I’d accidentally push out a turd.
You’ll be happy to know that — after months of worrying about this and trying to figure out ways to prevent such a thing from happening — I didn’t poop. I asked my husband after delivering Little Man, and he assured me that no extras were delivered. Whew.
What’s something silly that you’ve cried over?
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