no. 636 – Getting It Off My (Sagging Boob-ed) Chest

I had several paragraphs in draft lamenting how my body has finally changed and the aches and pains that come with it and worrying about feeling guilty since I know I should be on my knees every day thanking the good lord for my good luck in being pregnant at all, and then I thought, so what?

If I want to bitch about it, then I should be able to bitch about it. Why should anyone think that I should be crossing myself over and over because a hemorrhoid (or a multitude of them) decided to bleed, giving me what I’m sure was a mild heart-attack when I went to the bathroom? Or how I’ve noticed in a completely random exploration of my body, that I have nipple- lint/jam? Or that I’ve thrown up in my mouth more times than in the toilet because my stomach has seemingly overnight eloped with my heart so any burp, harmless yet enjoyable 6 months ago, now is my cue to find a water-proof receptacle?

Maybe I should even be jumping for joy (if I could without stunning myself into temporarily paralysis with the inevitable Braxton Hicks) that my husband said to me this weekend, as I safely bitched to him, that I did "get pretty big really fast", considering that a month ago I was worried that the baby was going to be of gecko proportions at term.

Of course, let’s not leave off the fact that by the time I take off my socks at the end of the day, that the pattern of the socks is left perfectly imprinted into my foot. Now I’m not talking about the tight-but-stretchy opening of the sock leaving a pattern. I’m saying that the PATTERN of the sock (let’s say today – argyle) is imprinted into my skin, because the bloatiness is not content to micromanage my abdomen or face or fingers.

I hope you will bear with my overall malcontent I have with my body, which I realize is not going to get any better over the next 12 weeks. Especially since my diet has consisted of left-over Easter candy I’ve hidden from XBoy and evenings filled with CSI marathon showings on Spike. Maybe when I come down from my sugar high, I’ll feel a little more remorse.

18 thoughts on “no. 636 – Getting It Off My (Sagging Boob-ed) Chest”

  1. Bitch away.

    Does it mean that when Murdock comes you can’t complain about the shit s/he’s going to give you? You can’t complain about the crying/colds/whatever?

    Bitch away.
    Bitch away.

    (I can finally comment on here…whatever was blocking me is GOOONE!)

  2. Honestly, DD. Do you have any idea how many people are out there who cannot even AFFORD argyle socks?

    I think you get my point. Rant on, my dear, rant on.

  3. Bitch on, nobody here could possibly find fault with that. You’ve earned that right, and then some. I remember with every pregnancy I said “Damn, I forgot how flipping miserable this was, why the hell do I keep doing this?” Some of us never learn. BTW – 25 weeks! Yay!!

  4. I agree with everyone else. Nobody is going to begrudge you a whinge about the nasty things that pregnancy does to your body so you should make the most of it and complain away!! For various reasons I hated being pregnant for 90% of my pregnancy and bitched with the best of them, I think it is a pregnant lady privilege!!!

  5. I *love* finally being knocked up, but that doesn’t mean I like everything about it.

    The reflux could go jump.

    So could the 50 pee-breaks a day.

    So could the disrupted sleep due to sore hips and pee-breaks.

    So could the reflux.

    So could the fact that when I sit down my boobs now balance on my gut.

    So could the achy pelvis and the fact that I now waddle, which I swore I would never do.

    Bitch away, DD 🙂


  6. Clover – I’m just hitting 25 weeks. I use the 12 weeks as reference since that will put me on the hair of term…my goal isn’t 40 weeks, but 38.

    P.Michelle – I have a lovely pair of banana yellow crocs. What sucks is that I can’t wear any crocs to work.

  7. Are you really 28 weeks? How exciting. I guess I thought you were due in late August, but hell you’re in viability land now. Wonderful!!!
    And complain the hell away.

  8. You know what I’m going to say here, but I’ll say it anyway – go ahead and complain! It’s your right. Like Mandy says, if anyone objects, so be it. They can read another blog full of infertility-related hand wringing.

  9. If you need to bitch, go ahead and bitch! For some people pregnancy sucks. And no matter whether you suffer from IF or not, you’re still entitled to complain when it does suck.

    But I completely understand where you’re coming from. When I was in the throes of IF I hated every pg woman who complained about how they felt. I swore I wouldn’t EVER complain about how I felt. But then, I got smacked upside the head with what I consider to be a horrible pregnancy. I felt like it was rubbing salt in the IF wound and yet I tried to keep my mouth shut.

    Why? Because I was afraid of offending people. But I realized that if people were genuinely happy for me and concerned about me they would be there to listen to me bemoan.

    So bitch. Those that care will continue to read (and sympathize). Those that don’t…well…you don’t need them anyways! 😉

  10. Gripe on DD! Gripe on with your bad self!

    You are pregnant. You have every right to bitch about stuff.

    Now, put your argyle-patterned feet up on your desk & have a cookie. or three.

  11. I am so disgusted by my body at this point that I would happily wear a mu-mu and not leave the house for the next 16 weeks if that wasn’t guaranteed to make me even grumpier. I just feel so frumpy and am starting to worry I will never get to back what I was before (and that wasn’t all that fabulous let me tell you). I hate feeling large and clumsy and uncomfortable in my own skin. So there, another pregnant woman who should be thanking her lucky stars for being pregnant who is totally with you on the bitching.

  12. What makes you think that complaining about being uncomfortable means that you don’t appreciate being pregnant? And what makes you think that we’re going to say “Well, you asked for it!”

    It took me about 36 weeks to get over that when I was pregnant with P–once I realized that complaining in no way meant that I didn’t love my baby and thank G-d every day for being pregnant, it made me feel much better.

    Go ahead and complain about your argyle-patterned ankles. And then take a picture for us.

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