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.

Advertisements




The Next Big Thing

25 04 2011

It’s not so much my belly, which has been expanding and contracting for months now (at this point, it no longer contracts, though it still produces a startling amount of gas on a regular basis).

It’s really more my butt and thighs.  I actually tried listening to my thighs with the fetal heartbeat detector, half convinced that I have a baby gestating in each leg as well as one in my uterus.  No such luck.  It seems to me that if my thighs are going to expand until they rub together, I at least should be producing some sort of life in there.

Well, chronic heat rash produced by rubbing thighs is really the least of the degradations that have set in halfway through my pregnancy.

As a preteen girl, I decided that I should adopt children rather than giving birth, because I simply could not fathom having a doctor peering at my nether regions.

“Don’t worry,” my mom assured me.  “By the time you’re giving birth, that’s the least of what you’ve gone through.”

At the time, I didn’t put much faith in my mother’s words.

But after weeks of getting up multiple times in the night to urinate, I’m willing to sleep through the night even though it means I won’t quite make it to the bathroom in time when I do get up.  (Luckily, my husband is a late sleeper, so this humiliation is my own.)

And, sometimes, it seems perfectly natural to reach down my elastic-waist pants to scratch the above-mentioned heat rash.

Finally, after waiting three decades, I have achieved that state of mind I have always pursued: comfort at the cheap price of my pride…





A Couple of Firsts and a Last

13 03 2011

The baby, currently referred to as “Cinnamon Bear,” received his or her first piece of mail.  The lucky little stinker, it was not just a letter but a package, sent by Auntie Ceci and Uncle Hal.

Here is what was inside:

Awwww…

Baby clothes look really small until you have a baby growing inside of you.  Then, suddenly, they seem awfully big…

In addition to receiving Baby’s First Mail, I also debuted the first of my maternity clothes.

This was entirely due to gas and bloating.

I am rather long-waisted, so it’s hard to find shirts long enough for me when I am not expecting.  Now that I am some weeks pregnant, it doesn’t take much of bloat to push my stomach right out the bottom of the shirts I usually wear.  I discovered, however, that some maternity shirts are like very long, very stretchy regular shirts.  I am a fan.  I may never go back to buying tank tops and t-shirts from anywhere but the maternity section.

And the Last:  tomorrow will end my First Trimester.  By Tuesday, I will be 14 weeks pregnant and moving on to the next stage of this adventure.  I am feeling rather scared and superstitious again, since it’s been 3 weeks since my last midwife appointment, but luckily I have another appointment on Tuesday.  If all goes well, I will have some reassurance as I begin the Second Trimester.

I understand that I get to look forward to: more heartburn, more back pain, less sleep, more trips to the bathroom, and fewer of my regular clothes fitting me.

I also understand that it will all be worth it the second I feel the baby move.

It’s sounds like a crappy trade-off, really, but I can’t wait.








%d bloggers like this: