In which I moan about pregnancy
I am loving being pregnant. I really am. I love being all round and full. I love little baby kicks and hiccups. I love patting my tummy. I love it that when I ask P where the baby is he will sometimes point at his own tummy, and sometimes mine.
But there are some things that downright shit me. Remember these?
* Why is it that when you are so full of female hormones, and about as female as you can get, your brain gives up being able to think like a woman? Multitasking is a definite benefit in my job (I'll just nudge that blood pressure whilst I make up this penicillin and maybe change the vent settings around; 'hello lovely nurse, could you just grab me some more remi please?') and I hate having to think linearly, but if I try to do too much it just evaporates. Pouf! Ideas- all gone...
* Tiredness. Crapola. I had to have a nanna nap pretty much every day in the first trimester and that went for 15 weeks, not 13, and it has started again- at 25+5, not 27/28. Holy what-the-hell? Maybe this is why one is so much more fertile in one's twenties.
* Most people have heard of eponymous signs- they just don't know what they are. That's something with someone's name attatched that signifies something in a disease process. For example, McBurney's point is the point of maximum tenderness in appendicits. Murphy's sign is tenderness under the liver when someone with an inflamed gallbladder takes a deep breath in, and Rhomberg's sign is someone who can't balance with their eyes shut. Now, I'd like to claim my own: Jen's Monster Pubes of Late Pregnancy. Seriously. I have the longest pubes ever. I haven't yet beaten my record from Patrick's pregnancy, but there are some humungous ones in there. And they're all straight too, like old lady pubes (Ok, I realise unless you work in healthcare that you may not know this, but old ladies seem to get straight pubes. Something to do with grey hair being thicker, or something. Anyway, there you go. Something to look forward to- not).
* Can't bend, can't squat, can't sit, can't stand, can't lie down without multiple pillows. It's uncomfortable just being alive. At least it's not frankly painful. Yet.
*Sweating like it's a Gold Medal contest. My sweat glands are outstripping any antiperspirant on the market. It's not sooo bad at work (air con) but if I have to dress up in gown and gloves and mask, by cranky do I start fogging up. And pouring with sweat. I literally have to change my scrubs after any procedure because they get so sweaty I get too smelly by the end of the day. Icky.
* Bad taste in clothes. I don't know what has brought this on, but I am turning into a hippie. Maybe it's just the attraction to loose fitting cotton, but I seem to be wearing all earth colours and ... navy blue. Navy blue is the colour my mum wears for Chrissakes! There are days when i am wearing- shock horror- no black at all! And I can't be bothered funking up the hair so it just goes back in a hair wrap. Next thing you know I'll be drinking herbal tea, driving a prius and thinking Peter Garrett has finally lost any shred of credibility (Oh Peter- why didn't you join the Greens instead??!)... oh NO! The rot has set in already!!!!
* My toe nails are looking just feral. Mental health staff reckon you can tell how mentally unwell a person is by the state of their toenails. Neat, trimmed, polished= mentally well; crusty, talon-like, only-cuttable-with-a-chainsaw =mentally ill. I have mental health toenails. Oh and my roots have grown out alarmingly, so I also have mental health hair. That combined with the hippie clothes plus a permanently dazed/ exhausted look must make my patients think they have Loopy Luna looking after them.
But. I really am. Enjoying it. Seriously.
But there are some things that downright shit me. Remember these?
* Why is it that when you are so full of female hormones, and about as female as you can get, your brain gives up being able to think like a woman? Multitasking is a definite benefit in my job (I'll just nudge that blood pressure whilst I make up this penicillin and maybe change the vent settings around; 'hello lovely nurse, could you just grab me some more remi please?') and I hate having to think linearly, but if I try to do too much it just evaporates. Pouf! Ideas- all gone...
* Tiredness. Crapola. I had to have a nanna nap pretty much every day in the first trimester and that went for 15 weeks, not 13, and it has started again- at 25+5, not 27/28. Holy what-the-hell? Maybe this is why one is so much more fertile in one's twenties.
* Most people have heard of eponymous signs- they just don't know what they are. That's something with someone's name attatched that signifies something in a disease process. For example, McBurney's point is the point of maximum tenderness in appendicits. Murphy's sign is tenderness under the liver when someone with an inflamed gallbladder takes a deep breath in, and Rhomberg's sign is someone who can't balance with their eyes shut. Now, I'd like to claim my own: Jen's Monster Pubes of Late Pregnancy. Seriously. I have the longest pubes ever. I haven't yet beaten my record from Patrick's pregnancy, but there are some humungous ones in there. And they're all straight too, like old lady pubes (Ok, I realise unless you work in healthcare that you may not know this, but old ladies seem to get straight pubes. Something to do with grey hair being thicker, or something. Anyway, there you go. Something to look forward to- not).
* Can't bend, can't squat, can't sit, can't stand, can't lie down without multiple pillows. It's uncomfortable just being alive. At least it's not frankly painful. Yet.
*Sweating like it's a Gold Medal contest. My sweat glands are outstripping any antiperspirant on the market. It's not sooo bad at work (air con) but if I have to dress up in gown and gloves and mask, by cranky do I start fogging up. And pouring with sweat. I literally have to change my scrubs after any procedure because they get so sweaty I get too smelly by the end of the day. Icky.
* Bad taste in clothes. I don't know what has brought this on, but I am turning into a hippie. Maybe it's just the attraction to loose fitting cotton, but I seem to be wearing all earth colours and ... navy blue. Navy blue is the colour my mum wears for Chrissakes! There are days when i am wearing- shock horror- no black at all! And I can't be bothered funking up the hair so it just goes back in a hair wrap. Next thing you know I'll be drinking herbal tea, driving a prius and thinking Peter Garrett has finally lost any shred of credibility (Oh Peter- why didn't you join the Greens instead??!)... oh NO! The rot has set in already!!!!
* My toe nails are looking just feral. Mental health staff reckon you can tell how mentally unwell a person is by the state of their toenails. Neat, trimmed, polished= mentally well; crusty, talon-like, only-cuttable-with-a-chainsaw =mentally ill. I have mental health toenails. Oh and my roots have grown out alarmingly, so I also have mental health hair. That combined with the hippie clothes plus a permanently dazed/ exhausted look must make my patients think they have Loopy Luna looking after them.
But. I really am. Enjoying it. Seriously.
posted by jen at 2:05 AM
1 Comments:
And to think...you wanted this. :) I'm having second thoughts on getting pregnant again after reading this post. The pubes things is just scary. I don't recall that from my former pregnancy, although I couldn't see down there for most of it.
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