Week 20: Don't Mess With Mama

The first half of my pregnancy has been remarkably easy, happy, and free of stress, strife, and morning sickness. People have even told me that I have that special mom-to-be glow. Too good to be true? Yep. This week the meconium hit the fan. (For those who haven’t been hitting the baby books like I have, that’s a fancy word for baby’s first poo, described as a “tar-like, greenish-black substance.” Pleasant, huh?)

First, things got sticky at work. Two clients, whom I’ll euphemistically describe as “challenging” to work with, came back to me with last-minute complaints and/or changes on projects I’d thought were long since completed. One had the gall to underpay me and insult my work to boot. Part of me wanted to say, “Kiss my rapidly expanding posterior. I have more important things to worry about.” But of course, that would be unprofessional, not to mention it would draw unwanted attention to that particular body part.

So I bit my tongue and did my best to satisfy these people. But inside, I seethed. I seethed so much that I gave myself stomachaches, woke up at 3 a.m. running through perfect come-backs in my mind, and just generally made myself (and my poor husband) miserable. I envisioned toxic waves of negativity flowing through my body, endangering my baby. And that made me mad. These mean, ridiculous, nitpicky people had gotten under my skin and were interfering with my life, my pregnancy, MY BABY. I believe I experienced my very first episode of “protective mother rage.” How dare someone mess with my (unborn) child!

So once all that drama passed, I got hit with a nasty stomach virus. My husband had suffered through it a week before and I was thanking my lucky stars that I’d managed to avoid it. But no, the bug was festering inside me, waiting for the most inopportune time to erupt. For the past 24 hours, I’ve barely been able to keep down peppermint tea and Saltines.

I have renewed sympathy for women with morning sickness now. I don’t know how they get through a day, let alone weeks or months, feeling like that. I feel very lucky to have escaped it. My biggest fear, instilled by the nurse at my doctor’s office, was that I would become dehydrated and have to get an IV. Needles and I don’t go together so well. Fortunately, I woke up this morning after 12 hours of sleep feeling like a new person.

This week has taught me not to take my pregnancy, or my health, for granted. My body’s got an important job to do, the most important job it will probably ever have – creating a new life. And it’s my job to make sure I keep my body in the best operating condition possible. If that means kicking a few unappreciative clients to the curb, so be it. My baby’s worth it.