39 Weeks: Done

12 09 2011

This is the last picture of my baby tummy:

If you look closely (please don’t), you can see the marks where the fetal heartbeat monitor has been sitting.  This is after about 12 hours of labor, and in between contractions and vomiting.

All of which is nothing but a sweet memory now…

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34 Weeks: POP!

2 08 2011

A few weeks ago, I was getting sweet little comments from strangers.  You know, the cashier at Trader Joe’s: “You are just perfectly pregnant right now,” and the older gentleman I passed while walking Charlie: “You are looking great, really fit…”

It was, you know, fabulous and flattering.  Until I thought about having, like, two months left of growing.  During which a healthy baby gains about 4 pounds.  That’s 4 pounds added directly onto my belly, mind you.  And then the comments change to things like, “You have how many weeks left?  That can’t be right!” and “You look like you’re going to have that baby right now!” and “Is your water going to break, ’cause that’s kind of gross.”

Today, I realized I’m almost there.

And by “almost there,” I don’t mean almost to having a baby, which is still 3 to 8 weeks away.  I mean almost to the point when people stare at me because I no longer fit the classic dimensions of what we call human.  When my belly button is in a different zip code from the rest of my body.  When I no longer look possible and yet I continue to grow…

In fact, from certain angles, I may have already arrived.

And about the shirt?

Oh, yeah, I did realize part way through the day that I was exposing an inch or two of bare skin – and not the flat, tan belly of last summer, but white and veiny preggo belly.

I’ve seen pregnant women sport that look before.

When Jennifer Aniston did it on Friends, I thought it was kind of a hot look.

When I had my peak rock climbing body and I saw other pregnant women with that gap between their shirts and skirts, I thought it was kind of a matronly look.

When my biological clock was ringing alarms, I thought women showing that belly were smug and self-satisfied.

Ah.  Well.

Now I understand the look.  It is the “It’s 90 f-ing degrees outside, I’ve blown my wad on maternity clothes that are falling six weeks short of covering this pregnancy, my feet don’t fit in any of my damn shoes, and I’m lucky I had the energy to cover this much of myself” look.

It is also the “I’ve spent 3 weeks contemplating perineum massage, and frankly, once you’ve googled that, any amount of belly looks just fine” look.

It is also the “HA HA, not one stitch of this clothing is maternity!” look, although that says more about the elasticity of my pre-pregnancy clothes than it does about me retaining some semblance of a reasonable figure into the third trimester.

I have to say, though, with about six weeks left to go… still loving it.





Third Trimester

26 06 2011





Or Maybe It’s Just Gas

11 02 2011

When I found out I was pregnant this time, I didn’t want to tell many people – or any, really.  Jason told plenty, but I only told a few – including a couple of people at work who would need to know if anything went wrong.

On hearing the news, one of my coworkers said, triumphantly, “I thought so!”

I must have looked puzzled, because she elaborated: “Well, a couple of weeks ago, I thought you were getting, you know, a belly.”

“Linda!” I gasped.  “I’m only, like, six weeks along.  I think you’re just calling me fat!”

 

 

Today, I announced to several people that my pants are getting tight.  Universal cheers to this.

Until I explained: “They are getting tight on my thighs.”

I paused.  Then: “Do you think I’m gestating this baby in my thighs?”

I was almost hoping for it, really.

 

 

I haven’t been doing belly shots during this pregnancy.  I’m trying not to be superstitious about anything this time around, but it’s nearly impossible.  Today, I placed an order for a few cloth diapers, and as soon as I hit the “Place Order” button, I immediately ran to the bathroom to check for spotting and began overanalyzing every twinge in my uterus.  In addition to my fear of causing spontaneous abortion by doing something reckless, like, um, I don’t know, actually acting like I’m expecting a baby in seven months, I am still recovering from this disappointment during my previous pregnancy: I spent two days absolutely fat with pregnancy – I mean, unquestionably so – and then, just like that, a good, long fart and I was deflated.

 

 

However, yesterday a coworker told me I was showing.  And I wanted to believe her.

 

 

So:

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Here’s 9.5 weeks… Or maybe I just really, really need to fart.








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