Posts Tagged ‘growing belly’

Week 37

I have been living in an alternate reality full of denial and disbelief. I guess Pregnancy has served as my punch-line the last nine months, rather than my true state of being. But all that changed this morning. I was getting dressed for a client meeting and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror across the room. Shocked, I realigned myself for a better view. Unbelievable. There was my 93-year old grandma staring back at me—her 200-lb 5’4” frame resplendent in large cotton undergarments and knee-high compression socks. Without my contacts in, I could have sworn Grandma was right there with me, grunting as she bent over to wedge her swollen feet into orthopedic white tennis shoes. At 37-weeks pregnant, I am my mother’s mother.


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Week 22

This week I just felt mean. Meaner than snot. It could be that ever-growing, stretching ache in my sides. I am quite literally, expanding—skin growing, belly protruding to unimagined girth. OR, it could be the fact that I haven’t slept in three nights, and naps are downright useless ideas. I remember wishing for those baby movements—the gentle kicks and turns that told me “baby’s here and doing great”— I am now internally pummeled with head-butts, fists and heels that send me groaning to my knees. I have momentarily wondered if I too, might be carrying Edward Cullen’s child?

For the most part, I am feeling quite cute and peppy in my new Motherhood brand-name outfits…but sit down for a moment to read a book, take a nap, or attempt the forbidden SLEEP, and little girl goes nuts on me, kicking out like Jet Li or Jackie Chan. Okay, more like Jackie Chan. I imagine her hi-ya chopping my diaphragm and then twist-spinning upside down into my bladder. Jackie Chan is tricky like that.

So…no sleep for me. Add the inevitable reduction of caffeine to the equation, and you might just be able to sympathize with my husband who takes the brunt of my splitting personality. Our OBGYN reminded him that I now have 26 new hormones to deal with that did not exist previously.  Poor guy.

This morning I volunteered at a women’s half marathon, and he looked at me in disgust as I loudly complained that I was not only too HOT, but tired and hungry. Meanwhile, 1200 ravenous bone-piles staggered by, reaching for the water that I was gulping down instead of handing out. Well, I’m sorry. I’m thirsty too.

And now, I’m holding an open house to fulfill my real estate duties as a Buyer’s Agent—but doing it with glazed over eyeballs and the kind of shallow breathing that typically precludes a long winter’s sleep. In order to stay awake, I called my little brother to check in.

“So, how’s it goin’?” he said.

“Uhg…so tired.”

“Well, yea! You’re in week 22 now, Josie, so you’ll be experiencing moments of invincibility, followed by crashes. Your body is still running that marathon you know. But watch what you eat. You really only need about 300 extra calories every day.”

“Who are you?” I asked, perplexed. “Where did Dr. Zachary come from?”

“Oh, I’ve been reading that book mom bought.”


“And, I think I would be a really good coach. In fact, heck with those childbirth classes you signed up for. I bet I know everything they’re gonna tell you already.”

“Maybe so, but I’m not sure I want you explaining my dilating cervix to me.”

“Think of a mayonnaise jar. It gets huge!”

“Okay, bye.”

And there you go. One way to stay wide awake is to call your little brother and have him tell you all about your nether-regions.

Wide awake.

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