I spend most of my day pissed. Pissed that I wake up starving at 3:30 in the morning. Pissed that I suddenly have an aversion to all of the delicious, healthy breakfast foods we so eagerly stocked our kitchen with the week we found out that I was pregnant. Pissed that I have to keep a barf bag within reach during my commute to work. Pissed that I’m tired beyond comprehension. Pissed that I can’t just be grouchy about those normal, perfectly expected, little parts of being 8 or 9 weeks pregnant. Most of all, I’m pissed; pissed off more than anything imaginable that I’m so scared.
I want to break something when I think about being scared. Then I want to cry that nine weeks into my pregnancy, I’m thinking about just wanting to break something, or scream at someone. I’m so happy about being pregnant, but I feel robbed of the time that should be MINE to enjoy that happiness. And that’s when I want to break something all over again.
Movie quote of the day:
Fuck you, hormones.