Funky Funk

Thank you for your many kind and supportive words after that last depressing post. Man, guys, SORRY ABOUT THAT. Reading back, it is like High School Katie decided to project what it might be like being Future Katie. Yikes, is all I have to say, along with a long-winded apology to all my previous English teachers who were subjected to such verse back in the day.

That said, it is hard to be in a funk and be around or communicate with other people. Being in a funk is difficult to explain to others, hard to understand yourself until you’re on your way out of it, and is almost impossible to fix. I find it to be especially challenging while pregnant, as one is expected to be excited and happy all the time about the impending arrival of your precious, angelic child. For many people, if not all people, that is just not always the case. Pregnancy changes your entire body, takes over, dictates otherwise mundane and normal decisions (what to eat, what to drink, what to do, etc.), and is absolutely ruthless about it. While there is often a gratitude and excitement that accompanies pregnancy, sometimes it just sucks the life out of you. The thought of a beautiful bouncing child becomes a treacherous, insidious parasite invading your body and your life without remorse or care of your previous glory.

People don’t want to hear about that. When they talk to you about your pregnancy (and there seems to be little else that people can think of to discuss with a pregnant woman), they want to hear how happy you are, about the nursery and the layette and the preparations. They want to hear funny stories about how you dribbled ice cream down your front in a moment of craving or how the baby hiccoughed during an important meeting at work and made you giggle awkwardly or how dropping something on the floor becomes a ten minute ordeal to recover it.

What they are not interested in hearing about is how it is hard to get out of bed, not only because your body hurts in odd places but also because you just can’t find any decent reason to move other than the toddler down the hall calling, “I GOT PEES, MOMMY!” and you really don’t want to change the sheets again. No one wants to know how you could truly sit on the couch all day without moving and watch stupid movies or TV shows or nothing at all, just because of the sheer exhaustion of it all. Or how hard it can be to answer the phone, as just the thought of mustering the energy to talk, especially about the baby and being pregnant, is exhausting.

And why would they want to hear about those things? Those things are depressing. People have problems of their own and, often, engage you in conversation just to escape to a happier, more hopeful moment of joy at a new baby. I can get behind that, really. It is just hard when you, as the one promising the happiness and hope, have none to offer.

But I feel better now, having slept a little bit better recently, having scheduled an induction date (and, thus, an END DATE), having some time with friends, and just moving forward in life a tiny bit. Again, you can’t talk about the funk until you’re almost out of it, and here I am. Pregnancy is a gift and a joy and a treasure, and the baby that will come from this pregnancy will be loved beyond measure, masking all the hardships that I have felt the last few months. Just that perspective is something I couldn’t have said a few weeks ago, so I look forward to the coming weeks, when, in all likelihood, a little newborn girl will give me all kinds of genuine happiness and leave me bursting with love, not to mention better reasons to lose sleep than hobbling to the bathroom and back pain.