The Pizza Hurt My Feelings

    Wahoo! Second trimester is here to stay! Someone asked me how I was feeling yesterday and I usually try to be completely honest...which, is a bad idea while being pregnant. Some of my responses thus far have been,
"Fat, but happy!"
"Miserable. But its worth it, right?"
"I'm just gonna say I'm feeling great."

   But now, I can give them nice, happy-pregnant lady responses like,
"So good!<maternal smile>"
"I feel great!<maternal smile and a belly rub>"
"So much better!<maternal smile plus belly rub plus sugar and spice wink in my eye>"

 For those of you who don't know what I mean by maternal smile, here you go:

 See? Maternal smile. That "I'm so going to forget about all of this in 9 months" kind of smile. Heart-warming, yeah? I use that smile on people at the grocery store when they try to butt in line. Or on my husband when I don't want to change my son's diaper....Works like a charm. (love you, honey!)
  But this is a blog about confessions. The nitty-gritty of pregnancy. The stuff no one wants to tell you about but that we all need a good laugh about. So let's move on, shall we?

CRYING.
  We all do it. Especially pregos, but we are CHAMPION criers. And we don't need a reason. Or a convenient place. Or even a reasonable time of day. In fact, lets just take reason out of the picture completely because it is not a typical woman's motivation to do anything, most of the time. There are several types of prego cries too. Here's a few:

1. "Nothing in our kitchen looks good to me...except that candle. WAIT! WHY AM I CRAVING A CANDLE??!"

                               ( I couldn't resist this one. You can find it huffingtonpost.com)

2. " Even my fat clothes make me look fat!!"

 
BUT, if I had to list the the worst kind of crying during pregnancy...it would be tantrum cries. Yup.

My latest tantrum cry?.......The Pizza hurt my feelings.

  A few days before Christmas I got my first taste of the glory we like to call "the 2nd trimester" and I felt like a champ. Seriously. All maternal, house-making instincts kicked in and I was like Martha Stewart on steroids. (Don't worry...I'm not even going to attempt to find a picture of THAT!)
  I started cleaning, present-wrapping, and baking like a fool. Homemade wheat bread, presents wrapped to perfection, and more clean loads of laundry than I had done in weeks.

   Everything was perfect. The house looked amazing, Michael Buble's Christmas album was playing, and all was right with the world. Then I remembered I was building a human. All of a sudden, I was so exhausted, I could barely stand. Not in a dramatic kind of way, but in a painful way. I felt like I had literally depleted my body of all its energy. Then it hit me. In all my eager, finally-have-energy-ness, I totally forgot to make dinner.
    Now, I'm not obsessive about making perfect dinners, but it was Christmas! Or close enough. And I had planned on cooking, but just completely forgot. (That's for another post!) So I called my husband, who was due home from work any minute, and asked him if we could have a pizza night. He said that sounded great and picked up a box for dinner.
    Sounds great, right?...Let me help you understand where my mind was at before my husband graciously handed my first slice.
    I had just mentally awarded myself the Olympic Gold Medal for prego-mommy-AWESOMENESS! I had baked, cleaned, wrapped, decorated, nutured, even SHOWERED, all in the same day.

 That was a huge accomplishment for someone who couldn't even get off the couch for more than 20 minutes at a time a month earlier. I felt like this inside:

But my body quickly reminded me what IT felt like all over:

  And all of a sudden, that pizza sounded like all things glorious. I had earned it! I promptly sat down on the couch, put my feet up, and sunk my teeth into the first slice. And then it happened. I threw the pizza back down on the plate, grabbed my mouth, and started crying, HYSTERICALLY. I don't mean like how I cried when Mufasa died on The Lion King. This. was. epic.
  My poor husband had no idea what had happened and what could possibly cause a grown woman to cry like that, but like the amazing man he is, he rushed over to me and held me while I sobbed.
 "What HAPPENED??" He asked.
"Are you hurt? Did you bite your lip? Are you bleeding? Whats wrong, Liz??"
Finally, I managed to get small fragments out in-between lip quivers and those choking sobs that kept coming...
"Tttttthhheee, ....ppppizza.....hurt....hurt, my....FEELINGS!"

  Now, I am used to translating for my husband. Luckily, for both of us, HE DOESN'T SPEAK CRAZY. 
"What do you mean it hurt your feelings?" He asked.

  I managed to wipe some snot on his shirt before I explained that...
"...I...wwworked, SOOO hhhard, ttoday, and...I just...I just...wanted....the pizza to, mmmake me feel better<insert awkward crying hiccup/burp combo>. And then.....the pizza....hurt me. The, the ssstupid sauce BURNT mmmmy llip, and, and that wasn't sooo bad, bbbut iit just made...me so sad...that the pizza...didn't ..make me..hhhhappy. It, just hurts my feelings....it hhhurt MY FEELINGS!"

  Feeling fat or craving things you don't have can't beat a good, "something hurt my when I am already hurting" kind of prego cry. You would have thought someone had murdered my favorite kitten. Or that they weren't going to make any more Star Wars movies after all. Or that Miley Cyrus was coming to town...I was DEVASTATED.
  So here's to all you husbands out there, and mine in particular. Thanks for the tissue giving, tear-wiping, snot-on-your-shirt-forgiving you do for the woman in your life. We don't make sense. And we never will. But we will carry your babies like the CHAMPIONS we are, and no amount of tantrums or demon pizzas can change whats coming in 9 months. I promise, its worth it:)

  
 

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