As everyone knows, pregnant women have bloodhound noses. What no one seems to talk about however, is that we also have bad breath… or at least some of us experience it at some point by the third trimester, a development which is nothing to sneeze (or breathe) at, considering our noses and mouths are essentially adjacent. Anyway, for whatever reason, I am presently embarrassed (and yet somehow compelled) to report, that I am now one of those women. Consequently, not only do I notice my husband’s shoes, the garbage disposal and the litter box from 1500 square feet away, there’s an ever present bacterial odor within millimeters of my nostrils. Thank god the morning sickness has passed, or I’d really be in trouble!
Joking aside, like most of the other side effects of expectation, the sudden halitosis is supposedly due to hormonal shifts. Being particularly sensitive to smells anyway (even before my pregnancy), I’d be lying if I said I weren’t especially annoyed with this new development (I’ve brushed and flossed four times today already!), but I suppose it could be worse. As of yet (knock on wood), I don’t have stretch marks, varicose veins, anything more than the occasional spot of acne or any truly horrific preggo-issues really, save the apparently evident mood swings to which anyone reading this has been witness (the upshot of which is that when I’m good, I’m very, very good).
Needless to say, I am aware of my good fortune. And I’m grateful. The trouble, however, is that as social creature who is not only inordinately chatty but extremely conscious of hygiene, I now have one more thing to be self-conscious about. As if looking like I’m about to tip over with my feet swelling out of my shoes and a walk that is more of a waddle wasn’t already enough! Now my single-mindedness, shortness of breath, strangely assembled clothing and penchant for bailing at the last minute due to sheer exhaustion are further complicated by giving off a foul smell when I open my mouth! I guess the best I can do is to hope that what comes out isn’t especially snappy — hormones don’t just affect my breath, they affect my words.
Meanwhile, there is some solace to be taken in the fact that I now have an actual, practical use for all that off-flavor gum leftover from the hospitality bags we gave out at our wedding. After all, I may prefer Soothing Spearmint when given the choice, but I will suck it up and deal with Artic Chill in times of crisis… femininity, identity or otherwise.
