On Being A Pod Person

Well, I guess I imagined I would get to this point. But I had no idea how incredibly uncomfortable being nine months pregnant would be.

The shortness of breath, I have had some of that all along. I guess its because my gigantic uterus is compressing my lungs. That's fine, not a panic, just taking more deep breaths. But the heartburn kicked up a notch at about 7.5 months and Tums do not work, Pepsid does not work. How can that have any affect when my stomach is practically pressed up under my chin? Note: drinking milk at 4am with that peanut butter and chocolate chip cookie does not help either. (What, the dog had to go out.) Speaking of 4am, the frequent trips to the loo has me seeing the apartment at all hours of the night, in 2-3 hour increments. I'm sure this is nature's way of preparing me for feedings (at least when she's here we can both stay in bed, assuming my bladder control remains strong). My legs are like little sausages, my thighs ripple with an extra layer of fat. Hubby has the task of trying to smooth out the deep rings my socks and leggings leave after a long day, which is really just a great excuse for me to get my legs caressed. My chin is happily disappearing, and I can't see my lady bits for the life of me. Good thing I gave up that sort of maintenance some time ago. The maternity ward is going to have to re-live the 70s again if they aren't used to my current decor down under.

I walk slower, make more sound effects even than before, often hubs has to put my boots on for me, which makes me feel about 5 years old. Every time I get up I am reminded that my hips ache, my interior pelvis, and some bone at the front of my pelvis region is always expanding in some direction. My back strains from sitting in the office chair, but then when I come home my hips hurt from laying on my old couch, which needs to be discarded but the new couch is not here yet. Getting up is also a challenge - lots of dramatic sound effects if anyone is around to hear it, and even if they are not. I will tell the Elsa dog exactly how hard it is to get up and get my milk and cookies. She is very sympathetic. When I'm laying in bed I can reach around and push off from the wall, I learned the hard way that the old trick of springing your legs forward from a bent knee position is not enough gravity to move me up - I was held there once balanced on my butt, not quite making it all the way over in order to get my feet on the ground. I don't know where my core went, its buried under baby I think.

Being so obviously, late term pregnant is also bringing on more and more comments. I still have a theory about the celebration of pregnancy in the African American community. I got a few more kudos this week. Coworkers asking me if I'm on the home stretch (not quite, as I have a feeling this will be the longest month yet). People I've worked with in the most distant of manners stopping to tell me their childbirth stories. A hint of caution, a glimmer in their eyes, "I'd do it again if my husband would let me."

But now I do know there is a reason it must come to this. There's a reason why women would want to sweat blood and tears for 24 hours to get it over with. I can't even imagine having my body back, but I'm feeling bittersweet already about it being over. It's step one in her getting farther and farther away from me as she grows up. But at least I get to meet her for real, soon.

E