Although I know that Barney and Friends sing otherwise, I do not actually think that I’m particularly special. However, at 21 weeks pregnant, I really thought I was special in one particular way: no heartburn.
Besides a few flutters and kicks, I have been utterly convinced that I could star on one of those reality shows where the women didn’t know they were pregnant until a baby dropped from their vaginas onto the floor of the bus or during a presentation in a board room at work.
That all changed two days ago, and now I know Barney couldn’t have been more wrong. I’m really, really not special. Because I really, really have heartburn.
I haven’t taken a Tums since I was pregnant last time. That will change in about an hour when I go to the pharmacy. Like an addict longing for a fix, I am dreaming about some serious antacid relief.
I’m thinking to call it heartburn is to undermine what it really is, which I’ve also seen described as gastrointestinal distress. That sounds more in line with what I’m feeling. I know I should double check my diet to ensure that I’m not eating any foods that are causing me additional and unnecessary gastrointestinal distress, but let’s be honest, I’m sure everything I’m eating is the culprit.
I have stayed awake the past few nights and imagined crunching on a few fruity Tums. I was tempted to ask my husband to go out and get them for me — especially since I’ve barely cashed in any pregnancy craving chips — but I kept thinking it would go away. It hasn’t. It won’t. It’s here with me for the next 18 weeks or so. That is, until I walk out the door and go to the store. Heartburn, er, gastrointestinal distress, begone!
At least I know there’s a cure for what ails me physically. As for feeling special, that’s something only a serenade from a big purple dinosaur can do for me.
How bad is your pregnancy-related gastrointestinal distress?