If you think about getting a drink, drop everything and just go get one. If you’re thirsty, drink all the water you can handle. Try not to leave home without it, and take any opportunities when out and about to have some.
Drinking water has helped me with headaches, dizziness, fatigue, other nameless annoyances of pregnancy, and overall comfort.
And if someone could come up with some glasses that would block out any and all advertisements of Coke, that would help, too.
2. Eat something before you get hungry – every two hours. Or forty-five minutes.
So there you have it, my sob story. I blacked out at a funeral and had to be carried off stage from the piano because I hadn’t eaten enough that morning, or any of the previous mornings.
People began to ask me what I had for breakfast that morning. My reply of “cheerios and grape juice” was unsatisfactory.
Now before I say what I’m about to say, know this: the people in that church loved me dearly and everything they said to me was out of genuine care and concern. However, I was descended upon with advice, rebuke, and exhortation; and it stung. I clearly remember one lady telling me, “You shouldn’t go two hours without eating! Even if it’s a handful of peanuts, you’ve got to eat.” Her advice was spot on, but the way it was said still hurt.
It all was completely overwhelming and discouraging. I felt like they thought I was purposely neglecting the care of the baby; if only they could realize, I really didn’t know. I was the baby of the family, had no relatives that I lived near while they were expecting, grew up in a church where there weren’t too many people having babies, and basically had no idea about anything related to having a child develop inside of you.
I remember crying in the car next to my husband, trying to explain how I felt. He was so loving and patient.
This story will probably not relate to a large percentage of young mothers. But maybe, just maybe, someone who needs this will find their way to this post.
If you’re discouraged, confused, overwhelmed, I can totally relate.
You’ve got to change how you think about eating. A sweet friend told me (sweetly!) after “le deluge” that when she became pregnant she started eating three full meals a day.
This was helpful! I knew what three full meals were; hadn’t been in the practice of eating them for awhile… but it was a goal I could work towards. Think enough food to fill a dinner plate with the major food groups represented.
Also, I figured out that you really do have to snack between meals. Peanuts, trail mix, and granola bars were my go to.
It was awhile ago now, that this all happened. But I can still remember the fear and the embarrassment. Would I be able to care for this precious little thing inside me?
Little by little, I learned. But it all started here…
This morning (the morning of the day that I would be totally humiliated) had to be different.
There was a funeral scheduled for late morning and I was to play the piano. That meant I had to be up, showered, dressed, made-up, beautified, practiced, and fed. Yes, fed. I was so proud of myself when I sat down to eat my breakfast of Cheerios and grape juice. Wow, I was really taking care of myself. This morning I knew I had to have all of my energy and strength at top-notch.
Little did I know that in less than twenty-four hours people would be chastising me for eating this meager breakfast that at the time I was so proud of.
Everything was going completely fine with the funeral. Maybe, maybe, I felt a little tired, hot, and thirsty; but seriously, I don’t think I thought of any of this until it was too late.
A soloist got up to sing “The Old Rugged Cross” before the message. Somewhere during the second or third verse, the darkness and stars started to invade my vision. That’s weird. I had passed out before in high school so at least I was familiar with that sensation. Oh well, I’ll be fine; I know how to play this song without looking.
By this time all I could see was complete black, but I could still hear the man singing and my playing sounded okay… until it stopped sounding okay. Wait, that’s not right. I’m supposed to play a B flat chord here. I remember still not being worried; I know where that chord is; but I kept searching for it and couldn’t find it. Wow, this sounds bad; this sounds weird.
At that point, I stopped having thoughts. I just knew that whatever I was playing was not right.
People in the crowded auditorium started to wonder what was wrong. The soloist began to wonder if he had made a mistake; he kept coming back in, trying to find where he was supposed to be. My mom, who was in attendance, told me later that she was thinking, “Someone better get up there and do something.”
Thankfully, my knight in shining armor realized I needed help. Paul came up to the piano and put his arms around me (which was good, first because I always love his arms around me, and second, because this particular time it kept me from collapsing on the ground)
“Hey Bud, are you okay?”
“I’m going to help you walk off.”
“No, you don’t understand; I can’t see you. Everything’s black. You’re going to have to carry me.”
So there I went, off the stage, carried in my husband’s arms.
There went the little girl everyone had watched grow up. There went the girl who had played the piano for everything that had happened in that church for the last who knows how long. There went the person who had never needed anything. There went all that pride. Wait, actually, I think it stayed on the piano bench.
This would begin my realization that pregnancy is different from normal. Something wacko is happening with my body, and I better figure out what to do about it.
Seriously, Christie, why did it take blacking out at a FUNERAL?????