Dear Broodling (part 2)

Dear Broodling,
Before I was pregnant with you, I had a lot of energy, and I miss that. Somtimes, when I wake up in the morning, I feel “normal” again. “Hey, I’m not nauseated! Hey, I have energy this time! Awesome!” I start going about my daily routine, rushing to put my shoes on, rushing to get to school, rushing to make a lunch I can actually consume — and out of *no where*, I’m on my knees, dry heaving. There’s no smell I can identify and in most cases I haven’t even eaten anything at that point.

You just want me to slow down, right?

Okay. I get it now. You should know this by now, but I’m an active person. I don’t exercise in a formal setting hardly at all, but I justify it by moving around a lot. I naturally go-go-go! all over the place. Now, you’re using that energy, and I don’t know what to do about it except slow down.

I’m not a good planner (your very existence is proof of this). I’m very, very good at taking tests without studying for them, getting dressed in ten minutes, and generally adapting to new situations quickly. My rate of information absorption allows me to succeed in a high-pace, high-stress environment. I love whipping things together at the last minute because of the rush I get. I am addicted to procrastinating.

But I get what you’re trying to tell me. That rush is bad for you. The adrenaline hurts your growth. You need the energy more than I do right now. I’ll try harder from now on, okay? Just… please be patient with me as I adjust to your schedule. I don’t want to throw up anymore. I’ve got nothing left.

Much love,
Your mom.

Dear Broodling (part 1)

Dear sweet fusion of chromosomes that have imbedded themselves in my uterus,
How are you holding up? Comfy in that placenta? Getting those neural pathways hooked up correctly? Good, glad to hear it.

Oh, me? Well, actually that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. You see, at the moment, I’ve been feeling kind of out of sorts, and I’m not necessarily blaming you, but…

Okay, look, here’s the deal. When you first told me you wanted to install a big-screen T.V. in my fundus, I thought it wasn’t going to be this big of a deal. I mean, I have to confess that I do like you, quite a bit. For the first couple of weeks there, I was on cloud nine: I had butterflies in my stomach, my pimple-free cheeks were rosy, my breasts were suddenly 1/2 a cup size larger and everything tasted great. Must be love, right?

Wrong. As it turns out, the “butterflies” ended up being gas, I’m breaking out like a junior-prom date on a french fry diet, my breasts and shoulders are in constant pain, and now a good deal of what I smell makes me queasy. I hate to say “you make me sick,” but good grief Fetus, I can’t even brush my teeth without spewing.

I also have an issue with our sleep schedule. Last week, you made me sleep for close to 16-20 hours a day. When I mentioned casually that this kind of grueling schedule isn’t going to work for me, you decided to bequeath me with insomnia. Not funny, Fetus. Until December 7th, I will be in nursing school for at least seven of my twenty-four hour day, and I need to be a fully-functioning, intellectual being so I don’t inadvertently kill someone during clinicals. After that date, I’d be open to lounging all day in bed together… At least until I get a job to pay for your expenses, that is.

Now, I understand that no two roommates are alike, and whenever two people move in with one another, there’s a transition period where they have to work out their differences. That’s cool. But I need some leeway here.

… Don’t get like that. It’s not that I don’t want you around. In fact, I’d be devastated if anything happened to you. Maybe I am being a little harsh, and most of this isn’t really your fault. But for sanity’s sake, I would appreciate it if you’d give me a heads-up next time you’re going to be having a kegger downstairs, savvy? 24-hour crushing headaches does not a happy Cassandra make.

Much love,
Your mom.