Entering the third trimester of pregnancy is like the beginning of a horror movie. It’s not that bad, but sometimes scary shit happens. Last weekend I worked both days. It was busy. I work retail, so it being almost November, now is the time when all the Christmas stock just fills the warehouse to the brim, so I spent most of last weekend trying to pump it all out onto the floor that had very little space left for new stock to begin with. Add to that the myriad of weekend customers and all their questions and demands and whatnot. I wouldn’t say that the work was all that physically demanding, but by the time I got home on Sunday night I was really just done. So I had dinner and watched Boardwalk Empire and then the cramps broke out. I’m talking like severe period-like cramps with the backache to go along with it. Felt like my torso was on fire, so I had myself my nightly bath, which usually puts my broken body back together. Not that night, though. Something really was off, so I did some online research that really only led to scary things. I tried to go to sleep, explaining to Jon how much pain I was in and how scared I was. Long story short I had to cry it out and let him hug me until I managed to calm down and the pain went away. I had a pre-natal appointment two days later. I took work off and felt better. Basically the pain was mild contractions, my uterus telling me to chill the fuck out and relax for once. Now I’m really trying to admit to myself that I’m not invincible. Thus far, my whole pregnancy experience has been pretty positive. I’ve worked my physical warehouse job with relative ease, though I’ve slowly tapered off the heavy lifting. I was nauseous during the first trimester but I never threw up. In the second trimester I could eat whatever I wanted and not suffer from heartburn afterwards. My face never broke out. My legs never swelled up. My back did hurt but I’d get a few days of relief in between. To this day I still only have ONE stretch mark that isn’t even an inch long. Part of me keeps thinking that I never want to get pregnant again because there is no way in hell I’m going to be this lucky the second time around. Now, though, is when all that shit starts to get serious, because diabetics have a higher risk of preterm labour and pre-eclampsia and all that other scary shit. Now when I’m at work I have to look at a box of merchandise and take a step back and wait for somebody else to offer to lift it. Now when I get agitated I have to calm myself the shit down and think of happy, endearing thoughts. I really can’t decide if two months is a long time or a short time, though.
