Friday, October 28, 2011

Alex, your wife is one tough bitch but would you mind rubbing her feet?

I know that Alex has been more of a secondary character in my blogs as of recent.
He doesn't do all the funny things that Marley does; like use his tongue as toilet paper or chase his tail.
Just because he hasn't been a focus in my writing, doesn't mean that he hasn't been a huge part of this pregnancy. After all, I wouldn't be in this situation without him (we all know how it works).

Being married to me can't be easy. Being married to a pregnant version of me is more akin to a prison term.  Unfortunately this sentence will neither be overturned nor will 'good behaviour' pardons be granted.
I'm whiny by nature. Ask my family! They can attest to the fact that I will not hide my complaints. "I'm hungry, I'm crampy, I'm grouchy..."
The problem is that people who know me best (i.e. my family), know that I'm whiny and often prickly when I don't get my way. Everyone else sees a side of me where I'm all sweetness and light.
Until recently, I've been cool with this arrangement. Alex has put up with my bullshit whining and we've managed to deal with all of my pregnancy symptoms without any major hassles or issues.
For example, my hormones are responsible for making me crazy. One evening I decided to watch "Knocked Up". The basic premise of the movie is that some low life dude knocks up some woman on a one-night-stand and he tries to prove himself useful enough to be in both her life and the life of his soon-to-be-baby. Because this movie is a Romantic Comedy, one would think that I would be laughing my guts out. No. I sobbed though the whole thing. Alex came into the room to find me sitting in bed under a mountain of kleenex, hyperventilating. We rationally came up with the "no more pregnant films" rule to discourage a repeat performance.

Luckily my hormone craziness is limited; however my masochism (as I have learned) is not.
As you all know, I've been exercising like a maniac. This has nothing to do with my body image but more to do with the fact that the endorphins make me feel amazing. Feeling amazing is rare at 34 weeks and if there is anything I can do to generate any feeling of awesomeness, I will do it.
So, needless to say, I've overdone it. All my muscles hurt and I'm exhausted...but HAPPY!
People in my classes see me do some pretty crazy things and (like the stink-eye-lady) do little to hide their opinions of disapproval. I don't care. I feel good and I'm taking advantage of the endorphins and the TIME I have now to do these things at my leisure.
Regardless of what they think, what they see is one tough bitch pumping/attacking/stepping with gusto through her final few weeks of pregnancy. I admit, it does look a little crazy to see an eight-month pregnant woman bouncing around for an hour.
During the classes, I'm tough; once I get home, I'm puffy, stinky, and STARVING.
Alex gets to see that version of me.
I'm the sexy wife who, after making a trail of sweat puddles on the floor (yes, sweat; not pee), runs to the fridge to eat EVERYTHING out of it. After the fridge is nice and clean, I take a shower and hop into bed for a well-deserved snooze. All this occurs before 10am.
Once I've risen from my beauty-sleep to go pee 1000 times, my muscles are sore.
The image of the tough pregnant babe is long gone and I revert back to my whiny self (with swollen feet).
This is what our Saturdays (and Sundays) have looked like since the beginning of my third trimester.

I tell Alex that growing a baby is hard work and then I go and exercise like I would before I got pregnant. Basically, Alex is married to the world's largest hypocrite (literally).
This doesn't seem to phase him too much. He's happy if I'm happy and apparently I'm only happy when my feet turn into hippo hoofs and I fall asleep in my breakfast cereal.
More than anything, Alex deserves lots of credit for dealing with my crazy. I'm so happy to be married to someone who understands my illogical logic and supports me though it.
If any of you see Alex in the coming few weeks, give the guy a super high-five or a hug. He's already dealt with a lot and he's about to deal with a whole lot more.

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