I thought about putting an inspirational infertility quote here, but instead I'll share that once I got out of a moving vehicle while on Clomid. I was hormonal, enraged and hulking out. I was a lurched animal in a cage.  Once I escaped, I walked for blocks while my husband slowly drove next to me. Eventually I cried it out, calmed down, and finally got back in the car. He never mentioned it again.

I’m out of breath typing this.

I haven’t written since March. But, I have a very reasonable explanation.

I simply haven’t felt like it.

I know that’s a super lame excuse, but it’s the truth.

I pulled Mickey out of her daycare, so we’ve been together 24/7 since the last week of March. I had every intention of writing when I put her down for a nap, but I just keep finding myself laying down with her and indulging in a two hour siesta every single time she does.

Usually I’d experience tremendous guilt for sleeping when I have a laundry list of shit that needs to be done. But, in the spirit of taking my own advice, I’m trying extremely hard not to judge myself. (I’m also very tired and overweight, so I just don’t have the energy to care enough to hate myself.)

For me, writing is like working out. It feels absolutely amazing. It provides an outlet and some form of sanity. But, no matter how great it makes me feel, the more days I skip, the harder it is to get back into it.

So here I am after taking a month off, trying to get back on the horse. And just like taking a break from working out, you expect yourself to be able to just run those five miles again with no problem. But, to your surprise, you find yourself stopping every half mile, out of breath and feeling incredibly discouraged.

So, feeling rusty and out of shape, grammatically, I figured I would just take baby steps and catch you up to speed on what’s gone on the past four weeks.

I’m officially over 200 lbs. I’m also consuming a peanut butter melt away egg, every 2-3 days, so I can’t say I’m shocked. I was 204 when I delivered Mickey, so being a solid 201 at 33 weeks is a real kick in the balls.

Despite my best efforts to eat healthier and to work out four to five days a week, I am packing it on and unsuccessful in dodging some third trimester side effects I was hoping to avoid.

Edema has officially reared its ugly head. My ankles and feet are starting to look like I’m wearing one of Eddie Murphy’s fat suits from The Nutty Professor. If I stand for more than 30 minutes, my right ankle looks a water balloon that was left on the hose too long and is about to burst at any second. I’m at the point that my presence alone is making people around me visibly uncomfortable.

I’m super excited to share that I’m experiencing a brand new side effect of pregnancy, that I wasn’t lucky enough to experience the first time around; lightning crotch. That’s right. Say it with me.

Lightning crotch.

This one totally caught me off guard. Last week I started experiencing shooting, hot pains in my vagina. They last for a few seconds, but my God, they stop you in your freaking tracks. Upon googling “sharp, shooting vagina pain,” I learned that this is completely normal and common during the third trimester. And honestly, it’s the most action my hoo-ha has seen in quite some time.

Oh! And, my c-section has been scheduled for May 30. I officially have less than five weeks left. After learning that this man child is already measuring at over 5 lbs., we’re not convinced I’ll make it to May 30. But, either way, it’s scheduled and I feel some shred of control in this situation.

So there you have my short, low-impact workout of a blog post. I’m big, swollen, tired, and my vagina hurts. But, I’m feeling really fucking grateful that I get to experience these aches and pains.

As I get closer to the end of this pregnancy, I’m beginning to remember that I didn’t think I’d ever experience any of this, even once, let alone twice.

So bring on the swelling and lightning crotch, because my body may not be in shape, but my head is.


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Sorry I'm not sorry.