How very odd...

Pregnancy does odd things to a woman.  To her body, to her mental state, to her emotional state, and even to her family.  There are things other people notice by a glance, like my freaky hair, my double wide booty, or a belly that looks 6 months but is only 15 weeks.  Then there are the things that my family notices, like the fact that I no longer drink coffee everyday, that peanut butter make me sick, and that I am oversensitive about things like babies and Batman.  Then there are the things I notice, like I have to go to the bathroom every half hour all night long, that I sweat doing even the most mundane things, or that I eat like a hobbit.  My feet grow wider, my nose gets bigger, my hair is curly one day and straight the next. 

Pregnancy has made my family extra irritating.  For example, they do crazy things like eat the last of the chocolate, drink the last of the water, or breathe at me.  Or, while  I am sleeping they crawl into my dreams and do irritating stuff so that I wake up grumpy.  Or they do horrible things like ask me where I would like to eat for supper, which makes me cry.  Or they are really nice to me when I am mad for no rational reason. 

Then there are the times that I crave some specific food, only to make it and gag over the way it looks.  Or those times when I want two foods that will never go good together, like chocolate ice cream and lemonade.  The times I will die if I do not have a Sheetz hot dog right now, even if I was sound asleep five seconds ago. 

There are those times when I cry at the baby on the baby wipe box. Or because Andy told me that I am beautiful when pregnant.  And he did not even mention that I am also crazy. Or I cry because my son told me that Batman is not real.  Or when I cry because it is Tuesday.  Or reading a poem about a bird to my son, or a birthday cake book to my other son.  Or when I am talking to my daughter about Narnia, or dinosaurs. I cry when I do not even know that I am crying. At first my children found it alarming.  Now they laugh behind their hands.  In a different room.  Which also makes me cry.

But the worst has to be that somewhere, deep down, there is a remnant of the rational me that sees all of this crazy.  And she protests.  And she tries to reason with my hormone saturated brain.  She struggles to make sense of my tears, my fears, my craving, and my brand of crazy.  She knows that Batman is (probably) not real.  She knows that of course the baby on the wipes box is cute.  And that it is actually me who is irritating, not my family.  She tries to explain that it is ok if they eat the chocolate, because it makes me sick anyway.  And that I do cry too much, and when it was not me, say it was my mother, I found it funny too.  But she is too quiet to hear over my craziness, and I am the only one who sees her daily. 

She also knows that soon this will all be over.  The world will not end.  People do not die from being pregnant, even if they also homeschool.  There will be a wonderful tiny baby, and we will laugh and cry and be a family forever.  And, very importantly, she knows that soon I will be able to stomach chocolate.  And a daily cup of coffee.  But I will be reluctant to give up my nap.