Freakout

My tummy is sticking out. Just a little bit. It looks like I had a really big meal, or I'm really constipated, and I hate it.

"You don't look fat," L tried to reassure me. "You're pregnant."

"I hate it!" I wailed to him. "Everything hurts. My tits hurt. My ass hurts. I hate feeling tired, and sick. I nicked my nerve with the PIO shot this morning and now my entire left leg hurts, even my knee. And if I hate it this much now, how much am I going to hate it later?"

He urged me to stay home, and it just made it worse. "I want to go to work! I want to use my brain! The answer is not to lock me up in this tiny apartment!"

Poor L. I have tried to assure him that just because I hate being pregnant doesn't mean I regret doing all this. I tell myself that this will actually be over pretty quickly, all things considered, and I never have to do it again. And when it's over I'll forget about it.

But I knew I would hate it. I hate being out of control. My mother hated it, too. She said the only other time she felt so out of control was when she had cancer. That's not exactly a ringing endorsement.

People keep telling me it's different in the second trimester. I hope so. But I have my doubts.