A lot of things in life piss me off, particularly at the moment (the dog being one of them, let’s not forget) and as I was lying awake at 4.40 this morning, staring at my bedroom ceiling and being endlessly kicked in the ribs, I was reminded of that list of things. You know, the things that piss me off.
Problem is, not only am I super-humanly highly-strung but I’m also incredibly neurotic. Increasingly so as I get older, too. No bugger warned me about the pleasures of ‘Pregnancy Insomnia’ in Sex-Ed class when I was 14, or indeed again when I fell pregnant and overbearing middle-aged women, desperate to relive their youth, took pleasure in relaying their horrific birthing stories to me, when I finally plucked up the courage to start telling people. No. This little gem I had to discover on my own. Thanks, people (!)
You see, I’m the kind of person, apparently, who will suddenly awake at 4am and spend the next 3 hours mapping out a survival plan for the next 30 years just in case the worst things that could ever possibly happen to one, insignificant, human being on this God forsaken planet do, in fact, occur all at once.
However, it is worse than just that… It’s worse than just that because the thought process will start with something as simple and inoffensive as “do I have everything for baby and I ready in the overnight bag?” and end with something utterly and extravagantly tragic like “if the world ends in December this year with the freak landing of a UFO containing hostile and disease-ridden Aliens hell bent on turning the entire human race into flesh eating Zombies, what’s the plan?” You know, because that’s just inevitable, right?
Truth is, my body has, obviously, changed so much in the last 8 months (I have just under 3 weeks now until my due-date) that I feel like I don’t know anything about myself anymore. I feel like a completely different person living in someone else’s body.
Don’t get me wrong, this fascinates me. But, naturally, it also scares the living crap out of me, too! I feel wonderfully privileged to have the gift of bringing life into this world and, as the last few weeks of my pregnancy drag on through a haze of stressful dog (yes, Sadie, that’s you, stop bloody whinging outside back door!) and Jeremy Kyle, I’m getting more and more desperate to meet my little girl. The hormonal changes are pretty incredible too. Well, they were in the first trimester (along with the continuous vomiting, headaches and general feeling of being hit by a train every day for 15 weeks) but now, all those lovely feelings of happiness, womanliness and general excitement seem to have given way to sleepless nights, money worries and nightmares about Aliens and Zombies taking over the world. And she’s not even here, yet!
I seem to have already made the transition into Parenthood without warning. When this happened I don’t know, but I wish someone could have told me. Just a head’s up would have done. Like, instead of trying to scare me with their birthing stories, one of those lovely older women could’ve just slipped in somewhere – maybe between the forceps and the 200 stitches – “oh, by the way, on this date you will turn into a proper Mother”.
Gone are the days when my biggest worry was what I would wear to the SU Bar fancy dress party that coming Friday night or whether I should have pasta bake or cottage pie for dinner. Now, I’m thinking about savings, mortgages, colour schemes, University Fees and how the bollocks I’m going to look after a solely dependent, tiny human life when I’ve only just got the hang of looking after myself.
Pregnancy is weird. At the time when I should be storing up my sleep for the amount I won’t be getting for the next 18 years, my body hates me so much, it seems to be saying a big “BUGGER YOU!” for getting pregnant in the first place. And as I lie awake at stupid o’clock each morning, listening to the dog whinging in the garden, I can’t help but feel that my body and the dog have secretly been conspiring against me… Just like the Aliens set on wiping out the human race this December (!)