When the Delivery Driver Arrives
I first encountered our delivery driver while expecting my second child, all while managing a lively 1-year-old. If he arrived during crucial moments—like nap time, mealtime, or even during my beloved reruns of Friends—my temper would flare. Did he really need to honk and ring the bell? Couldn’t he come at a more convenient hour, say, 3 p.m.? That time seemed ideal for no one would be sleeping or eating then. Apparently, package deliveries don’t operate on my schedule. His once loud knocks and doorbell rings soon turned into stealthy package drops on my porch, followed by a hasty retreat.
However, if he timed his visits right, I would offer him cookies and attempt to engage in light chit-chat. On a few occasions, I even asked him if he could watch my baby while I took a much-needed break, but I soon learned that wasn’t in his job description either.
When Weight Gain Becomes a Competition
During my pregnancy, I hit a number on the scale that I prefer to keep private, and I couldn’t help but envy those women who managed to keep their weight gain to the recommended 30 pounds or less. How on earth were they doing it? I found myself indulging in bags of peanut butter cups followed by Doritos—every single day.
Feeling Like a Human Heater
Pregnancy turned me into a furnace. Despite my husband’s persistent pleas to close the windows as fall approached, I kept them wide open, with all fans on blast. Living in the Northeast, I should’ve known better, but I craved that fresh air. I would sleep with just a thin sheet covering one leg while my husband bundled up in layers, even donning a sleeping cap and earmuffs. I embraced the chilly drafts that swept through our home, sometimes even stepping outside post-shower, towel barely wrapped around me, just to relish the cold air against my heated skin.
When Food Becomes a Battle
During the initial months of pregnancy, certain foods became my enemies—onions, specific cuts of beef, and anything fried were a no-go. No one was allowed to eat or cook around me unless it involved my bizarre cravings, which included burnt cheese on top of tuna and pepperoni. I insisted on having my odd combinations without judgement. However, if someone wanted to bring me a jar of jelly, cream cheese, and chocolate-covered graham crackers, I was all for it—as long as they didn’t expect me to share.
A Sudden Urge for a Puppy
At six months pregnant with my third child, I made the impulsive decision to get a puppy. Despite everyone around me warning that it was a foolish choice given the chaos of a 1-year-old and a 2-year-old, I was undeterred. I believed this puppy was meant to be mine. I sobbed at the thought of not having her, and even if it wasn’t my wisest decision, I’d do it all over again.
Desiring Constant Affection
Even while clad in my worn-out robe and a nasal strip due to pregnancy congestion, I yearned for my husband’s affection. I wanted him to bring me fried chicken every night and revel in my indulgence (without touching my food) while also offering foot rubs and carrying me upstairs in a romantic manner. Unfortunately, my pregnancy weight made that last request unlikely. After reviewing my expectations, I recognized my husband might have a point. But if we were to have another child, I could always outsource my cravings with a delivery service or even look into a foot massage service.
Reflecting on these whimsical demands, I realize that as long as my Pinterest dreams of a perfect nursery remain intact, my husband will likely survive my unrealistic standards. If you’re curious about more insights on pregnancy, check out this resource on fertility.
In summary, my pregnancy journey was full of unreasonable demands and cravings that I unapologetically embraced. The memories of managing my expectations and indulging in my whims serve as a reminder of the beautiful chaos that is motherhood.
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