I'm an introvert; I don't do 'excited'.

Much like I didn't want to turn this into a Bridezilla blog back in the summertime, I also don't want to turn it into a crazed baby-brain gushy mommy blog now.  However, this is *my* soapbox and I need to vent.


"Good job you two!  Congratulations!  You must be sooooooo(oooooooooo) excited!"
I have heard this no less than 50 billion times over the past two weeks.


I am an introvert.  I find being in the spotlight really, really exhausting and I am just about at my limit of being able to politely reply to this daily barrage of gushy sentiments.  I fear that the next person who extols their deepest well-wishes upon me might end up with a reply like this (I apologize in advance):


Good job!
Good job?!  You're joking right?  Do you know how babies are made??  Tab A goes into Slot B.... etc, etc...   It is not a 'good job' in any sense of the word!  Painting a room without getting paint on the trim is a 'good job'; running a band saw without cutting off your arm is a 'good job'.  Conception isn't exactly a job, let alone a 'good' one.  Now, I know that there are people out there who literally spend years upon years and thousands of dollars in treatments trying to conceive, and when they do, THAT is a good job; they've worked hard for that.  What my husband and I did was nothing more than a quick magic trick (don't tell my offspring I said this).  Sort of like: "Oooh, let's see if this works.  What do you know, it did!  That was fun."  Not a good job!  In fact, I feel a little guilty about just how easy it was for us.

Congratulations!
... I know that 'congratulations' is the standard response to good news, and while there's no denying that bringing a baby into the world is good news, you do know that you're congratulating me for, *ahem*, having sex, right?  That's a little awkward, isn't it?

So excited!
Apprehensive, overwhelmed, self-conscience, unsure, tired... these are words I would use.  'Excited' is currently not one of these words.  Now, don't get me wrong, I am absolutely content with our decision to reproduce (and yes, it was a decision, made before the fact - just to be clear); I am delighted that the process is 1/3 of the way through already and has been pretty painless so far, I am looking forward to cuddling with a little person, and I am somewhat relieved to know that now I'll have someone to pay my nursing home bills when I'm 90!  But between now and then....  Not only am I completely unsure of what sort of parent I'll be, I have six more months of everything about myself becoming foreign to me.  I'm going to grow out of my clothes; my centre of balance is going to change; my food tastes are going to change; heartburn is already a regular occurrence, as are some other gastrointestinal things I won't bother mentioning;  the amount of blood circulating through my veins is going to increase by 50%, making me more susceptible to nose bleeds; my ligaments are going to loosen so that my hips can move further apart; my abdomen muscles are going to split to make room for the little rib-kicker, and my happy little 'innie' is going to be an 'outie' before too long.  Pile all this with doctor appointments, ultrasounds, blood tests, and more poking and prodding than I care to think about - oh and let us not forget the apex of the story: delivery.  I hear that delivery of a 9lb bundle of joy with a bowling ball sized head is, well....  Let's just say it doesn't excite me too much. 

People are shocked when you try to explain to them why you're not bursting with excitement about the whole process.  It's almost as if there's a consensus among the general population that the level of enthusiasm shown while pregnant is co-related to how good a parent you'll make.  I'm pretty sure this isn't true.  I'm pretty sure it's just me being an introvert and wanting to not be the centre of attention anymore.  But so help me God, if I have to start putting little hearts in all my facebook status updates to show my pregnancy excitement, I'm going to sell this child!