OK, so this weekend I'm officially "viable" according to doctors. I'll be 32 weeks preggo and let me just say if ONE MORE PERSON reacts with someone-just-jumped-out-in-front-of-their-car-shock when I tell them I have 8 more weeks to go, I'm going to hurt them!
Yes, I am huge. I am at least as big as I was about a week before Emma appeared on the scene, and walking has turned to waddling--slowly. Sleep is as elusive as peace in the Middle-East, and if I eat more than a snack box of raisins, I feel like I'm going to explode--my stomach is that squished.
Speaking of squished, have I mentioned my LUNGS? Every time I talk to someone on the phone I get "Where are you rushing to? You're so out of breath?"
AAAARGH! Yeah, in my advanced stage of gestational bliss I'm running up stairs for kicks. NO, I just can't breathe! Try packing your lungs into a space no bigger than that little box of raisins I was talking about and see if you can catch your breath! Remember kids, on a GOOD day (i.e., a non-pregnant one), I'm barely 5'2" and 115 lbs. Haven't grown in height, but I'm now packing somewhere in the vacinity of 140! I have a whole new appreciation for the obese and what they go through every day. I won't get into specific gory details, but suffice it to say my feet aren't the only things I can't reach anymore without extreme difficulty. Don't worry, I make herculean efforts to find creative ways to overcome this little "issue" because (as you may know) pregnancy also has the lovely side-effect of making it possible to smell things (pleasant and unpleasant) as far away from here as Siberia.
Then there are the clothes. I've reached that point where even the full-panel stuff isn't cutting it. What they don't tell you is that every pregnancy is different, and every woman is different, and some of us carry LOOOOOW. That means that nothing much stays put on the belly itself, but rather slides down it as surely as if it were slathered with grease. And what THAT Means is that I'm in a constant struggle between plumber's butt and getting arrested for indecent exposure in front . Don't let those cute ads for maternity clothes and those images of pregnant Britney or Denise or Katie fool you--not every pregnant body can still get away with "cute" clothes. Someone needs to tell that to the people making maternity clothing these days too. All the pants are sized for the same stick-figure proportions as in the regular clothing stores, they just add a big elastic band on top and call it "maternity." Spare me! I couldn't squeeze one of my arms into most of the jeans I've tried on, and contrary to what they must think, pregnancy doesn't make you TALLER either. Who's going to bother hemming maternity pants??? How about some short lengths kids?
Just wear skirts you say? Oh sure, and when it's cold outside, what am I supposed to wear on my legs? Sure, they make pregnancy tights and hose, but try finding them anywhere but online or in fancy boutiques! And all of this is expensive. For the life of me, I can't figure out how all these welfare mothers dress themselves! I'm going broke and I seem to be wearing the same three outfits over and over again (and I bought them at Target!).
Babies--as challenging as they are--are much more fun on the OUTSIDE of your body. Those who bask in the "glow" of pregnancy or walk around talking about how much they luuuuuv the feeling of being a brood mare make me want to hurl. Either they are much younger than the pushing-forty I am(literally, I only have a few more months to go until that "joyous" event), or they are LY-ING.
It feels like Alien.
No, it feels like Alien and Predator.
And yes, this is my child I'm talking about--someone I love--so you can imagine how truly heinous it must be for me to talk this way about her.
But the absolute worst part of all this is the feeling you get when people insist on touching your stomach (and not letting go until they feel a "kick" which sometimes takes a while). Far from feeling like the Buddah, all smiley and serene, I have to restrain myself from breaking their arms. Bad enough that you feel invaded, now you have to feel like a vessel rather than a person. Like your body is no longer your own, but rather belonging to the world entire.
I know, I know, I'm making a pretty strong case for the "choice" people aren't I. It's pretty easy to see (even for me at times) how important it is that women are defended in terms of what's DONE to their bodies, but the difference is, as miserable and whiney as I feel, I DID THIS TO ME, or at least half of it anyway. I made my "choice" about 32 weeks ago, and as an ADULT (the only people who ought to be doing things that can land them in this condition in the first place), I take responsibility for that choice 100%. The people I feel for are people who don't have a choice (rape victims, incest victims, etc...) I can't justify forcing them to go through what I'm going through, no matter how precious I believe life is. The only thing I can say there is that I do support emergency birth control and strict confidentiality laws about handing it out (so people won't wait too long and be forced to more drastic measures later).
I'm sure to be flamed about all of this, but there it is. Pregnancy is a blessing, I'm aware of that. There are people out there who can't "enjoy" what I'm suffering and I feel for them, but that doesn't negate the reality that it's not as fun as the outcome, it just isn't, no matter what anyone says.
Rant over.
Posted by insomnomaniac at November 4, 2005 1:06 PM