Last Monday we started our four week childbirth class, and the instructor was joking about how when you get towards the end of pregnancy your ligaments start softening in preparation for the birth. She assured us we’d all feel like old ladies with arthritic joints by the end.
I’ve hit the old lady pregnant stage. When I got up this morning, all the joints in my hands, elbows and pelvis were aching. I told Kyle I wanted to quit life because I was turning into an old lady. He laughed at told me to get out of bed. I told him that it seems reasonable for just my pelvis to be aching–that’s where Baby intends on coming out from, after all–why did my arms and hands have to hurt as well?
Poor, pitiful me. I will wallow in self pity because I cannot find other types to mollify myself.
I’m approaching the stage where I’m about ready to evict Baby from my body. It’s been nearly nine months, please give my body back now. I’d like to return to the pre-nausea, pre-heartburn, pre-elderly, generally pre-pregnancy state that my lovely body was before you took up residence. But then I remember that eviction means I have to take care of Baby OUTSIDE of my body. Which includes night feedings, crying, and dirty diapers. Not to mention a minimum of 18 years of financial dependency.
Sometimes I look at Kyle and ask him why we thought this was a good idea after all. In the meantime, I think I’ll hobble off to bed for more old lady sleep.