I need a label on my forehead that reads something like:
Warning: Moody when pregnant. Contents under pressure. Do not provoke.
It could also have some small print that reads something like:
Offer plenty of cupcakes and lengthy naptimes.
I'm actually doing fairly well this pregnancy. This is only my second large-scale irrational emotional outburst. The first was in the Khan before we were telling that we were expecting but I was still definitely experiencing pregnancy symptoms; not only did I want them to take my meat back to cook longer...I needed them to. World peace and eternal happiness depended on it, I'm sure.
It's been weeks since that original meltdown and I haven't even cried very much this pregnancy, so I'm really doing fairly well.
Andrew and I were talking about it last night after our friends, Josh and Carolee, left in a hurry. It wasn't even that big of a deal, nor is it even that great of a story. It was going on 2 am and we had already played Danger 13 and Fluxx. We were then playing a round of Killer Uno or Cutthroat Uno or whatever you want to call it. Things were going along well, but I could tell I was tired and grumpy. Not that that's unusual. As a pregnant lady I am typically tired and usually somewhat grumpy.
I was controlling things well until I ended up drawing 8 cards. And then 6 cards. And then someone went out.
I counted out all the cards worth 20 pts, which were a lot. I think I lost count at around 80 or 90. And I still had a handful of cards. And it was 2 AM. And I, frankly, didn't want to add them up. I was fine with them being added to my score for me and continuing with the game but, I'm pregnant, you see, and at that exact moment I couldn't add them.
"I'm not counting these," I warned, putting my cards down, "You do it."
"No, you have to count them," Andrew said.
"I'm. Not. Counting. Them." I said again firmly.
Unfortunately for everyone, I repeated myself a third time, scrambling my cards with Andrew's and reaffirming that I, indeed, was not going to count them.
"Well, now I can't count them," he said.
And that was the end of the game. Probably a good thing since it was 2 AM and I had lost my mind. The Schillings probably think I'm a freak now, but hopefully they'll understand later on when Carolee is expecting. Not that she is. But later she probably will be because having babies is what normal married couples try to do in our religion.
I felt pretty stupid about the whole thing, but we were talking about it and decided that I've actually been pretty emotionally stable this pregnancy, so far. I mean, I lasted through several games before I threw a fit. Andrew swore off Scrabble during pregnancies because we played once when I was pregnant with Rachel and I think I threw the board and screamed at him within the first 3 words played. He was playing words like, "Astrophysics" and I could only think of words like, "Goo-goo" and "Gaa-gaa."
I can also cook this pregnancy. Last pregnancy I would cry over dinner almost every night. You know those jokes you hear about the pregnant lady who cries because the water doesn't boil fast enough? That was me. The spaghetti sauce splattered on the stove? Enter crisis mode. Spilled some milk? There were definitely tears over that. Heaven forbid I actually burn anything.
It was probably a great blessing when my pregnancy nose kicked in and our kitchen "smelled so bad" that I couldn't even set foot in there. Andrew did all the cooking for a while because I just couldn't be in the kitchen.
I also could hardly get dressed in the morning without bursting into tears. I have yet to cry about the task of matching an outfit this pregnancy.
Andrew theorizes that the number of fits thrown during pregnancy predicts the temperament of the yet-unborn child. If his theory is correct, then this kid is going to totally rock!
Because do you know who can't get dressed in the morning without throwing a fit about something? Rachel.
Do you know who can't let me make dinner without throwing a fit about something? Rachel.
Do you know who can't let me get through a game or a blog post or brushing my teeth without throwing a fit (unless she's already in bed)? Rachel.
We could just be heading toward the terrible twos, or it could be that Rachel is an emotionally high-strung person who had me crying the whole pregnancy by sending her emotional vibes coursing through my body.
When Rachel is good, she is very good, but when she loses her temper she turns into a wild, rabid animal. It's pretty crazy!
Part of me hopes, for Rachel's sake, that this is just the terrible twos starting. Part of me hopes, for my sake, that our next child throws fits only once a month. That would be awesome!