Pregnancy is difficult and transformative (not to get all Dbag Chopra on you) for so many reasons. 7 months in, I’ve turned into an occasionally normal, occasionally raving lunatic who can perhaps be found hiding out from her own dinner party sobbing and folding laundry in the bedroom closet (true story). Everything just kinda gets… harder. It’s harder to think, walk, breathe, work. Everything takes a little longer (figuratively and digestively).
It becomes increasingly difficult to trust your own instincts when your instincts change and are not the same ones you’re used to having. I’ve always been the type who gets depressed if I spend too long laying around, and now I’m the happiest when I can prop myself up gently on some pillows and luxuriate and weave like a renaissance child. Where did this person come from? Is the alien parasite I’m harboring exercising mind control?
I saw my chiropractor again today, and by the end of the appointment (right after the part where they violently crack your spine into a pillow with a round, belly-shaped hole), I found myself just lying there under an ice pack, crying again, just completely overwhelmed. The doctor went to see another patient and left me to relax and listen to the Led Zeppelin softly pumping into the interoffice stereo system. I got the whole paper face sheet sopping wet with lady tears before deciding to get up and move on.
Anyway, what I want to say about this whole thing (aka the magic of pregnancy), is what helps. The fairy unicorn thing that somehow makes it all better (temporarily): it’s that handful of women in your life who support you no matter fucking what. The friends who respond (no matter what you tell them you just did) with, “that’s totally normal,” or, “great idea,” or, “you should absolutely quit your job and buy a lute and become a full-time weaver right now.” Because that’s what you need to hear. At a time when you feel like the rug is being pulled out from under you completely, when all of your instincts are new, backwards ones, you just want someone to tell you that you’re not crazy, that you’re doing great, that everything is temporary, and everything is okay.
I’m extra lucky because my best friend happens to be a pregnancy wizard, but any kind friend will do. Now is not the time for constructive criticism. It’s the time to tell the hugely pregnant woman in your life that she is doing a fantastic, wonderful, amazing job crying into that sandwich.