This sucks, and that's okay with me

3:00 a.m. and all is well. I'm getting on a plane in 13.5 hours to go to Vancouver to see my family (w00t!) And no, I'm not asleep in bed. Can't sleep, Clown'll eat me. Colour me an insomniac, an insomniac who hasn't packed. A scatterbrain.

So, I'm not a hesitant packer. I have a toiletry bag and I'm not picky about what I choose to bring with me anywhere, my laundry is mostly all clean and available, so I'm not concerned. But I could forget things. I do that sometimes. I forgot my wallet when I was 21 when I took a solo trip to the UK for three weeks. That was an adventure. You'd think I'd be super vigilant now and planning ahead and such.

Nope.

I did, however, make time today to get my hair done. After nearly four months of looking like ass, I'm cute again and my head looks presentable. Priorities.

It was fun talking to the salon ladies about my pregnancy. They were happy for me and found my offhand complaints about it funny. I enjoy making a well-worded complaint. It's very satisfying to laugh at your irritations and acknowledge them with jokes rather than putting on a fake smile and trying to behave the way you're expected to.

I know maybe not everybody would enjoy my distaste for pregnancy. People like glowing, happy pregnant women flush with excitement over new life, feeling connected to their babies. But dude, that just ain't me. It's not going to happen. I thought it would. I hoped I'd feel differently, but I accept now I simply prefer if I am the only entity occupying my body. And that is totally okay.

Some women might feel a little movement and get emotional, wondering if it's the quickening. I feel flutters in my lower abdomen and I think, "That's either my kid or a fart collecting momentum. If it's a fart, I better not be in public this time."

At the ultrasound, seeing the fetus for the first time, an excited mother-to-be might marvel over her baby and feel a wave of love. Me? I cursed my heartburn while watching my baby flip around, thinking it resembled a frog.

I've describe the sensation of the ligaments in my womb stretching as "My uterus is elbowing me." Because it totally feels like that. My midwife assured me it was natural and healthy. I was like, "Yeah, that's good. What a pain in the ass." It doesn't hurt exactly, but it always surprises me. I could be sitting around anywhere and then ZAP. POKE.

(The Face. Awesome YouTube video.)

Come on, uterus. That's not cricket.

I dunno, somehow by embracing the fact this sucks, I'm starting to dig the whole thing a bit more. I think the key is not being concerned about how other people feel. It's my experience and I'm completely allowed to think it blows, say so, and make jokes at my own expense, if that makes me feel better. And it does. I love dark humour. It makes my world go round.

There are "anti-brides" out there who march to the beat of their own drum. I'm the anti-preggo. Imma eatin' sushi. I'm gonna colour my hair. I will plan a natural home birth and research cloth diapers, and nuts to anyone who tries to talk me out of these things. I shall kvetch and moan about my warped and mangled body and crazy symptoms and laugh at the indignity of making life. I will develop a yelp for when people touch my belly without asking permission. I will follow my midwifes' information and my own judgement over other people's hysteria or misinformation about what I can and cannot do.

And in these ways, I'm reclaiming my body. Oh, I'll still share it, willingly and without reservation. Roughly 25 more weeks of sharing left. Have at it, you little avocado. Enjoy my calcium. But I don't have to follow anyone else's script about who I should be, what I should feel or what I should say while I'm doing it. I'm doing pregnancy the way it feels right to me.