Despite a rather shitty relationship with pregnancy and infants in general, I find myself pregnant again - on purpose. It's important to note that I chose this because then I can hassle myself for choosing something I literally hate every minute of and make myself even more miserable.
Everything has been the same so far: nausea, bloating, constipation, extreme exhaustion, insomnia, weird leg spasms, cystic acne, - you know, all that fantastically beautiful pregnant woman shit.
I'M FUCKING GLOWING OVER HERE.
This time around is different though, I'm not reading anything about pregnancy, I'm not checking my stupid Ovia and BabyCenter apps every goddamn second of the day. I'm not watching lisp girl or black shirt glossy lip lady tell me about the formation of genitals or the fact that this thing has fingernails.
It's not that I don't care - I just... don't really care.
I'm already super insecure about my body again. I feel like I formally broke up with my body for a bit there, like - you know what body - it just isn't working, I don't know you anymore. I gave it some space and it came back around and it was like, 'look, I've changed.' And it did. But it did in the same way that Coke Zero did.
Coke Zero Sugar isn't the fucking same.
You know what my body felt like at its best so far after having a kid? Edgar from Men in Black. You know, the farmer who has the giant alien roach wear his skin and ask his wife for "SUGAR. GIVE ME SUGAR. IN WATER. MORE. MORE." That's the peak.
I was feeling pretty good about having a big ass fucking roach alien wearing my body as a skin suit. I mean, it was close enough just a little bigger in some areas than it used to be and a lot more floppy.
But now it's not mine again or the huge roach's. It's this baby's body and damn if this baby isn't stripping it down and plumping it up.
Nobody has really asked me what my biggest fear is this time. Maybe it's too early? Maybe people think if you've done something before for some reason you're not shitting your pants about it the second time? My fears this time are as follows and in order:
That's it. Other than that - I'll deal with whatever. I just don't want to die or go back to the darkness of depression.
I know I could crawl out from under it again if I have to, but I really, really don't want to.
There's part of me that already feels a little slippage. My thoughts are a little too quick, my sleep is a little too easily interrupted, my eyes are a little too out of focus. Small things. The days I choose to bypass them are golden, but sometimes I linger and over analyze and I think maybe I'm already drifting that way.
I'm trying to figure out how to keep myself from catching wind.
I don't want to blow away again.
It may come as a surprise that I am quite the fearful person (unless we've ever talked at any length about cicadas, seriously, fuck those bugs). I am not proud of this facet of my person-diamond. (For the record, I'm not particularly proud about having this unjustified, deep-seated fear of cicadas either).
Fear is a strange emotion for me personally in that it seems to elicit those much crappier, long-lasting emotions like: anxiety, shame, and guilt. This power trio is particularly fun to deal with because they are really good at keeping you busy from realizing that you're just scared of something.
Important note: it is NOT juvenile to say that you are scared of something. (Pfft, over here acting like walking to the kitchen in the middle of the night isn't spooky as shit and you're not running back to your bed quick as hell. Get outta here, liar).
Back to business...
I have a major fear of failure.
There. I said it. I have a fear of failure and it has inhibited me in the following ways:
I am scared of failing, and this is something I need to change.
Every weekday, I come home from work and at 6:00 pm a reminder goes off on my phone to clean the cat box. Every. Single. Day. Every weekday, I come home from work and at 6:00 pm, and when a reminder goes off on my phone to clean the cat box, I immediately dismiss it. Every weekday, I come home from work and at 6:00 pm, when I dismiss the reminder to clean the cat box, I feel terrible about myself.
This is who I currently am.
I am the girl (woman?) who comes home and dismisses the reminders for the things she should do, so that she can do the things that distract her from the things she should be doing. I have let my personal laziness levels get so high that I have to physically take action to not do the thing I should be doing.
I am actively lazy.
Now, I know full well that there isn't anyone to blame for this action-based lack of action but myself. BUT, this isn't about blame. (Seriously, this can't be about blame, Blame is this fun backpack I like to carry around and fill with things that do/don't belong to me. That's another post for another day).
This is about stepping back and doing something different. Here are our options. Let's go!
Here is to a new year, a new less lazy version of myself, and doing the fucking things.