![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Friday, February 29th, 2008 18:49Today, Teddy sat me down and asked me this question: Do you want this baby? Do you want to be pregnant?
Taken aback by the question, I stared at him and said yes, I do want the baby, but no... I do not want to be pregnant. Unfortunately, I cannot have one without the other. I asked him why he felt he needed to ask me such a question.
Because, like your mom and I have been discussing, it seems like you just don't care, and there is something wrong but you aren't saying shit.
I told him that just because I keep my complaints to myself, unlike he who whinges at the slightest cut, it doesn't mean that I don't care about my situation.
You want to know what is wrong with me every single day? Fine, I will tell you: Every morning, I wake up to unbearably sore hips because the weight of my stomach puts pressure on my hips when I lay down on my sides. I can't lay on my back because then I feel like I'm suffocating under even greater pressure. When I get out of bed, my calves convulses and cramps up. Sooner or later, never missing a single day, I get bad cramps around my sides, and sometimes they are so sharp it causes panic, but I wince and let it pass. Which they always do, though it returns intermediately throughout the day. No amount of Tums can keep the heartburn attacks at bay, and I am either very constipated or loose. I walk around in great discomfort because of this, especially when nothing seems to want to come out of me, no matter how long I force myself to stay on the toilet. And though I barely do anything beyond lifting up a book to read, my body is ransacked with such sheer exhaustion, weariness and weakness that I can barely walk straight. Do you know how many times I've swaggered against those hallway walls, how many bumps I've acquired in attempts to walk straight? Let me not go into the fact that I always feel like I'm living in the midst of a burning bush. I always feel so damn hot, the fan barely takes the edge off. So, even though you complain that you get cold at nights, I keep that fan on.
But I am pregnant. I'm not as young as I used to be, and I'd abused my body all those years. All the pains and aches I'm suffering from on a daily basis is my punishment for getting myself in this predicament. It is no one's fault, but my own. Thus, I refrain from complaining. I wince and groan, and sometime cry in private, because I know that it's just a part of bearing a child, and that the aches will go away sooner or later, even tough they inevitably resurface at some point during the day. I do not complain because there isn't a damn thing you can do to alleviate any of my symptoms. And having you ask me what is wrong at every turn is more aggravating than helpful.
Am I going to tell you any of this? No. Because I don't need you to worry about me when there just isn't anything you can do. I am strong, and I know I will pull through this whether or not I choose to tell you. And I simply choose to not complain about every little ailment. When true labor starts, or when I feel that something is seriously wrong, I will alert you so that you may take me to the hospital. Here, your usefulness will be appreciated.
Until then, please stop badgering me. Seriously.
Taken aback by the question, I stared at him and said yes, I do want the baby, but no... I do not want to be pregnant. Unfortunately, I cannot have one without the other. I asked him why he felt he needed to ask me such a question.
Because, like your mom and I have been discussing, it seems like you just don't care, and there is something wrong but you aren't saying shit.
I told him that just because I keep my complaints to myself, unlike he who whinges at the slightest cut, it doesn't mean that I don't care about my situation.
You want to know what is wrong with me every single day? Fine, I will tell you: Every morning, I wake up to unbearably sore hips because the weight of my stomach puts pressure on my hips when I lay down on my sides. I can't lay on my back because then I feel like I'm suffocating under even greater pressure. When I get out of bed, my calves convulses and cramps up. Sooner or later, never missing a single day, I get bad cramps around my sides, and sometimes they are so sharp it causes panic, but I wince and let it pass. Which they always do, though it returns intermediately throughout the day. No amount of Tums can keep the heartburn attacks at bay, and I am either very constipated or loose. I walk around in great discomfort because of this, especially when nothing seems to want to come out of me, no matter how long I force myself to stay on the toilet. And though I barely do anything beyond lifting up a book to read, my body is ransacked with such sheer exhaustion, weariness and weakness that I can barely walk straight. Do you know how many times I've swaggered against those hallway walls, how many bumps I've acquired in attempts to walk straight? Let me not go into the fact that I always feel like I'm living in the midst of a burning bush. I always feel so damn hot, the fan barely takes the edge off. So, even though you complain that you get cold at nights, I keep that fan on.
But I am pregnant. I'm not as young as I used to be, and I'd abused my body all those years. All the pains and aches I'm suffering from on a daily basis is my punishment for getting myself in this predicament. It is no one's fault, but my own. Thus, I refrain from complaining. I wince and groan, and sometime cry in private, because I know that it's just a part of bearing a child, and that the aches will go away sooner or later, even tough they inevitably resurface at some point during the day. I do not complain because there isn't a damn thing you can do to alleviate any of my symptoms. And having you ask me what is wrong at every turn is more aggravating than helpful.
Am I going to tell you any of this? No. Because I don't need you to worry about me when there just isn't anything you can do. I am strong, and I know I will pull through this whether or not I choose to tell you. And I simply choose to not complain about every little ailment. When true labor starts, or when I feel that something is seriously wrong, I will alert you so that you may take me to the hospital. Here, your usefulness will be appreciated.
Until then, please stop badgering me. Seriously.