I have to confess something. Ever since I lived in New York, I've harbored a dislike for pregnant women and new moms. I'll never forget being almost shoved off the sidewalk by women pushing massive strollers as if they were the only ones in Manhattan trying to get somewhere, or having my foot crushed by a pregnant women pushing twins in a pram. Then there was my big sister's constant fretting over where she was going to get her next meal through both of her pregnancies. Oh, and my best friend constantly exploding about the most minimal things during her pregnancy. I always saw pregnant women as fat chicks with a sense of entitlement.
God, I was stupid. I smell everything. The smells make me want to vomit, then I want to cry. I snap at my boyfriend over the smallest things. Sudden movements and loud noises make my hair stand on end. I feel like people should drive more carefully when I'm on the road because, after all, I'm pregnant. I feel like no one understands how I'm feeling, and the only thing that makes me feel better is knowing that my little princess in there is going to need a good lunch. Or dinner. Or snack.
This has got to be my karma for being so self-centered in the past. That's fine. I can handle that. But that's the thing about karma: it comes back ten-fold, doesn't it?
I suppose eventually I should be honest and admit that there's a lot more drama in my life than I'd like to have ... things that would probably not be there if I were home in America instead of Italy. These things aren't helping. I can take my karma, I fully deserve it. But I'm worried that all of this negativity is hurting the baby ... I'm going to have to change something ... I can't let my moods be in complete control.
Becoming what you always disliked is one thing. Going completely ape is another.
