Before I got pregnant I had all these ideas and expectations on what kind of pregnant woman I’d be.
I’d eat healthy and exercise daily (motivated by the baby of course). I’d get the house in order and make curtains for the nursery and find the perfect pediatrician and I’d still be social and hangout with friends, and, and, and I’ve done none of that.
I’ve been feeling incredibly guilty about it. Because how am I going to rock this mommy thing if I can’t even manage this pregnancy? The baby’s not here yet and my mom game is sort of in the garbage.
Plus, I’m a newlywed who is totally neglecting her husband. I’m no fun to be around right now. I barf all day. I go to bed before the sun goes down. I lay around for most of the weekend. I cancel date nights. I cry when I see puppies. Or babies. Or turtles. Or anything. I wear fuzzy slipper socks and baggy sweatshorts. Okay, I did that before I got knocked up, but still, it adds to my legend now. Basically I’m a sick bore, a hormonal bitch, or an emotional crying wreck.
But I’ve decided to let the guilt go and give myself a break. Because I am doing the best I can. Thanks to all of the weeks and weeks and WEEKS of throwing up multiple times a day, it’s rare that I feel well or have enough energy to do anything more than yell my demands at my willing husband from the couch or bed. In my slipper socks. And my sweat shorts.
And for now I think that’s ok.