You can’t handle the truth

It’s official: I’m pregnant. Not that I haven’t been pregnant for the past six months, but now I feel pregnant. I’m finally feeling the “joys” of pregnancy, as they say. Which, by the way, is completely bogus.

Now, before you defend pregnancy as the most beautiful miracle blah, blah, blah, let me just say that I realize there are two types of pregnant women: those who love being pregnant, and me. Don’t get me wrong; I cannot wait for our little bundle of joy to arrive, but I need a magic wand to make the next three months go by quickly.

I’m asked how I feel at least 23 times a day. And for the past six months, my answer has been “Great! I feel great!” And I was 100 percent sincere when I said it, because I did feel great…it was all rainbows and unicorns over here.

NOT ANYMORE.

Now when you ask me how I feel, I’m still going to say “GREAT!” Just know that I’m lying. I’d rather not tell you the truth, unless that’s what you really want to hear. And then I’ll tell you this:

Things hurt. There’s always a little appendage lodged under my ribs, be it an elbow or a foot or God-only-knows-what. And there’s nothing I can do about it. I try to move him but have no luck. It’s now sore to the touch. This baby is already grounded for his entire first year.

I’m taking prenatal vitamins that taste like a spoonful of rotten fish, and iron pills that have a tendency to back up the plumbing, if you know what I mean. I get about an hour of decent sleep at a time and then I’m up with odd pains I can’t quite describe. Is the baby about to pop out of my belly button, or do I just have to go to the bathroom? So I head to the bathroom, AGAIN. Then sleep for another hour, rinse and repeat.

Oh, and did I tell you that my back is hurting so bad that I’ve resorted to seeing a strip-mall doctor to realign it? Yep, a squirrely little guy in a strip-mall with bad taste in shoes and receptionists.

So, next time you ask me how I feel, I’ll just say “GREAT” with a big fat smile on my face and a twinkle in my eye. How’s that for sugar-coating?

Mimi Burleson lives in Georgetown with her husband and son and is patiently awaiting the arrival of her second little boy, due this November.