Week 9 - Mood Swings are Ruining My Life

You might think that title is a bit of a stretch. You'd probably be sort of right. But they certainly did put a damper on what should have been a great weekend. And yes, this post is late. Because of mood swings. And other stuff. Which I will now tell you about.

Last weekend, Andy went away to a Bachelor party for his good friend and college roommate. When the trip was planned, I wasn't having any morning sickness and we had no idea how awful I would end up feeling at times. Plus, when we decided I would go to Hungary, part of the arrangement was that he could go off and enjoy whatever debauchery was planned. Fast forward a couple weeks, and the night before he leaves (which is also our 3rd anniversary), and I have a total freak-out over a minor issue. That should have been the first sign of what was to come.

And the whole "frisky" thing from last week? It's even more frequent now. As in, one pregnancy book lent to me by a friend puts it as "some women describe being in a constant state of arousal," which finally put my mind at ease. I was beginning to think there was something wrong with me, like I was an over-sexed nympho because any thought, raised eyebrow, or random body contact took me straight from nauseous to horny. Needless to say, it's sort of inconvenient.

All in all, probably not the best time to be left alone for a long weekend. But it was really important to me that he have this chance to go out, blow off some steam, and get a vacation after taking care of me so much, so I sent him off with a kiss and my blessing to be as debauched as he wanted. Plus I knew I had some fabulous plans with the girls, so I wouldn't be lonely for company. The adventures we had will be a follow-up post, because they're too funny to share space here. Stay tuned, but be warned it may be another week or two, in which case I'll embelish the story and add a dramatic flourish or two, maybe even a unicorn.

So I was having a great time with the girls, but the damn OCD dog... she made any time at home miserable. I couldn't give her the same attention that Andy does because I can't stand the vibrations caused by her licking the couch, sucking on toys, or chewing on bones, so I can't sit with her. I also walk at about 1.5 miles an hour when I'm not feeling in perfect health, so taking her for her daily mile long outing was also out of the question. Her food smells disgusting and I have to bend over to get it out of the bag, so I wasn't exactly rushing to feed her. Eventually she barked at me out of frustration and wouldn't stop, and I lost it. I smacked her on the bottom after yelling at her, and she promptly ran away up the stairs. I felt horrible and sank to the floor and starting crying, which makes her come back down and gently check to see if I'm okay, which involves really delicate little licks, which is just about the sweetest thing a dog can do. Or she liked the salt on my face, but I like to think she was concerned.

That alone wouldn't have concerned me, except that later that weekend, I had her upstairs and she just wouldn't settle down. She kept getting into the trash, and running under the bed with qtips and tissues, so I have to pull her out so she doesn't swallow them. Getting on the floor? Not so easy. And she barely even fits under the bed, so it's not that simple to get here back out from under it. I'm ashamed to say it, but after getting her back out, I hit her again and couldn't stop myself because I had her in a corner and this primal response took over. I sobbed on the floor for about half an hour and was nauseous from not eating and being upset, and then finally talked to Andy. And yes, I know, I could have called people to come help, but at that point, I didn't even know what I needed and I felt I had already leaned on friends too much to ask for one more thing. And really, I was too ashamed and scared of what had happened to tell anyone but Andy.

Why is this so scary to me? To put it gently, there was a period of my life where some things happened that you can classify as physical abuse. To be fair, my mom was alone while my dad was stationed overseas, and it's even more difficult being a single mom while trying to get sober. But I still have that background, and I've always been terrified (while telling myself I'll be different) that I would lash out at my own children in a moment of extreme frustration. I've already worked through all of it for myself so I can be a functioning adult, but now that I'm going to be a parent, I think it's time to get back in for some therapy so I can learn to handle myself better without ever taking it out on my kids. And I know a lot of my reaction has to do with the hormones and mood swings and frustration over morning sickness, but that doesn't excuse what happened, and if I ever do anything to my kids, I will never forgive myself for not taking action when it first came up. Unfortunately, it will probably have to wait until next month when I actually have time of my own after this project for work is over, but that's better than not at all.

So enough of my pity party and on with the show. Little One was about the size of a green olive, and since both books said the exact same thing, I think I'll take it as being right on. We had our first prenatal appointment since the ultrasound, and my doctor said my due date will still be April 7, since the ultrasond date is still within a week of the guesstimate. Which is kind of funny, since the first doctor said April 8. I'm taking this all to mean I will count my weeks as starting on July 1, but that I'm not considering myself due until April 10th. At least that way I won't be quite as crazy if I go into labor after then. This is all theoretical of course. I may be so sick of being pregnant by the first that I just tell them to get it out already and tell me when it's over. Another item from the doctor? Apparently I shouldn't be going for the all-ice-cream diet. This sounds reasonable when I'm able to eat, but when everything but milk and rice and apples and ice cream sound disgusting, I'll take another helping of ice cream, thank you very much. I'll skip eating all those at once too, as that would also be disgusting.

So yeah, a bit late on this one, but I wasn't exactly up to writing this until today. And I'm too lazy to backdate it. I promise the next one will be up tomorrow, and sometime after that, crazy adventures that involve driving around for 2 hours instead of getting the right directions to only take 45 minutes. At least I had my sense of humor for that one. Nobody likes to be lost with a crying prenant lady.