And so He just can’t let me go unpunished for my smug wondering about what on earth other women were complaining about during their third trimesters. You see, with most of my previous pregnancies, I actually had the audacity to tell people I felt fabulous right through till the end. It really was true, though. I would have gladly suffered through two of those kinds of third trimesters in place of the nauseous horrors of a first trimester any day.
To illustrate the point: When I was almost due with my fifth, I remember 5 year old Eamon attempting to do a cartwheel on the front lawn. I tried to talk him through the steps, but he wound up frustrated and confused. Only my husband’s wide-eyed disbelief and gasping “Don’t you dare!” prevented oh-so-pregnant me from personally demonstrating the art of the cartwheel for my gang of eager children.
But that was then. This is now. I only recently commenced my third trimester this time around and let’s just say that I am not exactly turning cartwheels around here. In fact, my pain has a name: Sciatica. And then there’s the equally crippling but less exotic-sounding pregnancy-related hip pain.
This unhappy turn of events has opened me up to a whole new set of sins: I envy people who can walk upright effortlessly. I covet little old ladies’ walkers. I greedily horde all the pillows in the house and demand ¾ of the bed space in order to ensure I get a proper night’s rest. I give way to pride in my remarkable accomplishment when I manage to throw together eggs and toast for my family’s breakfast while standing on one leg at the kitchen stove before collapsing on the couch for the next two hours. Which brings us to the sloth thing.
All I can say is thank goodness I can do the important stuff like reading, writing, smooching the baby, and delegating, delegating, delegating, without ever once having to get up off my rear end. Oh and complaining, of course. That requires very little upright physical effort.
Misery loves company, and so I am opening this up to comments. Tell me your pregnant horror stories. Tell me that acupuncture, yoga, or your sister-in-law’s homemade elixir cured you from all of the above-mentioned ailments, and I’ll give it a try. In the meantime, I’ll be on the couch.