Posts Tagged ‘hunger’

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 23

Baby X is (almost) officially six months old–on the inside. We had our six month check-up today at the OBGYN. And Dr. Schram said Baby X is measuring just perfect (23 centimeters) and her heartbeat is strong. Not to mention the exuberant kicking displayed during the inspection.

Meanwhile, I’m not sure Brit the puppy is ready for this new addition heading our way. She’s still deciding whether to pee in the house or eat my bra. Hmmm. Difficult decisions.

The nursery isn’t quite what I have envisioned—not yet at least. We’ve moved the double bed into the room, started her a library of books, and hung her impressive wardrobe in the closet. Still, there is no crib. I know grandpa is working on it, but he needs to hurry up and finish because mamma wants to see this thing complete! Picking colors and finding appropriate bedding is quite a challenge. I did, however, just find a great lamp: Shopping in Paris! This little girl will know the shape of the Eiffle Tower and the art of a well-made pair of shoes well before she turns three.

This week’s major highlight is my breathlessness. As if I am in awe of every moment and word spoken, I now gasp and wheeze when approaching people. Just last night Clint and I ate out at Chili’s (not my favorite—just thought I’d document that), and I had an appetizer on the Happy Hour menu. I admit that I was gulping it down with relish, being as I was RAVENOUS. I was however, finding it really hard to breath.

In true Clint fashion, he was ready to go as soon as he swallowed the last thing on his plate.

“Okay, you ready?”

“I’hyam schill chewhing.”

“Oh.” (Disappointment)

As soon as it could be assumed I was done with everything I could be done with, it was down the mall to Macy’s where he was determined to find a new pair of suit pants. Yes, little girl, your daddy is finally finding his fashion footing.

I lagged far behind, taking teensy-tiny steps and wondering where all the air had gone. I hate to admit it, but when I got to Macy’s I actually SAT DOWN IN A WAITING CHAIR next to the contingent of bored husbands and waited for Clint, playing WordUp on my phone. I couldn’t even muster the energy to wander past the high heels or handbags—and this, my friends, just confirms how serious breathing is to a persons’ well-being. If one cannot breath, they cannot shop—and therefore, miss out on the one occasion where the husband is occupied on his own and I could, potentially, have complete freedom to roam the entire store, fondling the sweaters, fine china and decorative pillows.

Man, this pregnancy thing. Just when you thought you had it handled.

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