On an average night, I wake up twice because my bladder only has a fraction of its former volume left.
I add to the problem by giving my kidneys a fresh cold glass of water to process every time I get up, because for unfathomable reasons, peeing at 1:45am makes me desperately thirsty. It’s usually as I’m climbing back into bed (yes, climbing – I need a step-stool to haul myself into the bed now) that I realize I’m too hot and sweaty to ever possibly get back to sleep, so my first wake-up ends with me turning on the ceiling fan. Even if it’s cool outside, and even if the air conditioning is keeping the room at a reasonable 75F. After my second wake-up around 4am, I give up on my PJs and end up half-naked and sweating on top of the sheets, gasping for oxygen like a dying fish while my husband snores beside me wrapped in a blanket.
It’s the hormones and the squirming heat-generating nugget in my uterus that are making me sweat, but I’m sure the pillow nest is helping to retain that heat and contributing to cooking me alive. I could probably hatch chickens in my bed. Or alligators. And they’d all be male.
The nest is a necessity, because apparently the worst thing you can do while pregnant is sleep in any manner other than on your left side. So you buy fancy giant pillows and prop yourself up all night and try not to roll onto your back and die. How humanity got through the dark ages before Snoogle pregnancy pillows is a mystery to me.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s nap time. So I have to go pee.