Before I get into what is making me restless, let’s have a little discussion about hormones.
Last week, I was speaking to the husband of a friend who just recently became pregnant after going through some fertility procedures. I asked him how far along she was now—fully expecting him to not really know since he is, after all, a man.
“Well, let’s see,” he thought, “she’s a week and a half away from the end of the first trimester so…10 weeks or so?”
It turned out that, in his mind, he wasn’t counting how many weeks ALONG she was, just how many weeks she had left of hormone shots from her treatments. (I found this out as he danced a small jig to celebrate the mere thought of her finally being off of them.)
Of course, I understood. She had already told me that they seemed to be effecting her emotionally in a less-than-pleasant way (not that you would ever guess it when you are around her).
I resisted the urge to tell him to just wait—the real pregnancy hormones can do plenty of stuff on their own (heck, not all of which will disappoint him!).
The other night, as we were eating dinner at the picnic table in the side yard, Sean was telling me something (don’t ask me what—I don’t remember and it doesn’t matter in the slightest). I looked at him, looked at my plate, and just couldn’t help myself. I picked up a grape and held it, poised for him to get the picture.
He did. I threw. He missed.
He caught the second one, though.
I laughed hysterically as he chewed his grape and looked at me, perplexed.
“You know, dear, the hormones are doing some WEIRD things to you this time,” he said.
“Ah, but are they bad things?” I asked.
“No, no…Not bad at all. Kind of entertaining. But weird.”
When I became pregnant with Caleb, my grandfather was battling terminal colon cancer. He needed a lot of help as he went through chemo and the effects of his disease, so we all spent a lot more time at his house.
I remember sitting in his living room in the evenings, when he would prop his legs up in his recliner, and watch as his legs would involuntarily jump and twitch. It frustrated him so much. Not just because his legs kept moving, but because they kept FEELING like they needed to move.
I could totally relate.
My first two pregnancies were karma’s way of punishing me for laughing at the concept of medication for “restless” legs. It really seemed like an incredibly dumb concept. But those first two pregnancies? Wow. If I didn’t have a total aversion to taking medication when I’m pregnant, I may just have been begging for those pills. I was so grateful when I didn’t have restless leg issues during my last pregnancy.
I don’t know why I was surprised when the restless legs started up again the past week or so.
So far, it definitely isn’t as bad as it was at its worst in the other pregnancies. It’s only forced me out of my chair to walk around and stretch once so far. But, well, there’s still a lot of pregnancy to go. I’m hopeful, though, since this is the first time that it has waited until this late in the pregnancy to start (with Caleb, that was my first sign that I was pregnant…my legs kept feeling like they needed to twitch).
So, if you drive by my house in the middle of the night and see the lights on, you now know why. I’m restless*. Or, at least, my legs are.
*Don’t worry, there’s always enough for me to do around here with the extra time. For instance, I had to stop part-way through writing this to clean up Caleb puke (my second puke cleaning of the day—the first coming from a dog). Lucky me…Sean made them homemade snow cones with concentrated RED kool-aid after dinner. Thank heavens the kid managed to only puke on his bed.