Colonized

For about the first month after I found out I was pregnant, I felt colonized. Before I explain much further, I want to point out that NEVER, at any point, have I not been thrilled about having this baby. But I also wasn’t prepared for it. And being prepared makes a big difference in how we respond to major life-changing scenarios like “the plane is crashing into the mountain” or “the ship has struck the iceberg” or “the sperm has found the egg.”

Plus, and those of you who know me know this well, I was up to my armpits in baby-unfriendly habits that had to cease and desist immediately. I smoked. I drank a lot of wine. I ate raw meat. I drank caffeine. I popped ibuprofen at the slightest twinge of pain. I slept 6 to 8 hours a night, maybe. I drove fast, recklessly, and often without a seat belt.

So of course, I stopped all of it. Cold Turkey. After about a week, I was stressed out, exhausted, and becoming increasingly feral. All of my favorite vices were gone! Who did this zygote think it was anyway? Not that I could have brought myself to actually DO any of the things I was missing so badly, but that didn’t mean I had to like NOT enjoying them.

Ultimately, I did break down. I needed a damned Coke.

Starting my new job in the 8th week of pregnancy was what drove me over the edge. I was miserable by early afternoon with or without the caffeine rush, overcome with a stupefying fatigue, but a can of Coke with lunch took the edge off of it. That and a 10-minute power-nap I would take with my head down on my desk.