I'm Being Controlled by My Fetus
Humans are blessed with cognitive abilities. We can think, reason, choose and weigh decisions. We have free will to make choices based on all the information we are given. We even have instincts to fill in the gaps where information isn't available.
Except pregnant humans.
I am being ruled by my tiny urchin. For someone who weighs a whopping pound and a half, he/she sure packs a lot of punch. It's like I'm housing a mini-dictator.
When the baby wants chocolate, I'm forced to oblige. Or pickles. Or cheese. Or breakfast cereal. The baby doesn't care that it's 11:38 p.m. or that I just filled up on popcorn. The baby just points at me with that skinny finger and glares and growls, NOW.
I'm powerless against the forces within.
If the baby wants me to go take a nap, he/she will slowly and methodically sap all energy reserves from my body until I can barely lift my eyelids and I start to drool. I don't know how he/she does it. Voodoo? Narcotics? I have no proof, but I can imagine he/she is a tiny drug lord and has smuggled something powerful into my system.
The baby gets irritated with his/her siblings as well. I spend nearly every waking moment (and many asleep ones) in the company of Thing One and Thing Two. Normally, this is not a big problem. We have a schedule and a system and manage to maintain a balance in our relationships. But baby has decided that at a certain point in the day, he/she has had enough of the siblings and they need to go in the basement and play by themselves for awhile and give the baby some peace and quiet.
The baby also doesn't like vacuuming. Or laundry. Or pants not made of cotton and elastic. Or putting groceries away.
Pregnancy is a dichotomy. Two people existing in one person, battling for control of the poor mother's limited cognitive abilities. Sometimes I'll win and eat a banana. And sometimes the baby will cackle at my weak attempts at control and make me add ice cream and whipped cream and chocolate to my banana.
The baby is just so mean to me.
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