Tuesday 1 June 2010


I am now at the point of my pregnancy where there is just no getting around the fact that I have swallowed a twenty-pound basketball. And with this of course, I have adopted the gait of a bulbous geriatric duck – i.e. a very slow waddle. My partner can’t help but laugh under his breath when he sees me walking down the street towards him or when he catches me trying to do something that used to be so easy and well, mundane like tying my shoe or picking up something off the floor.  If I could move faster, trust me I’d give him something to laugh about (love ya honey….now unload the dishwasher so I don’t have to bend over!)

I often wake myself up at night, as in my sleep I’ve rolled onto my back and become stuck like a monstrous insect (Kafka’s The Metamorphosis springs to mind). And trust me, the chore of turning over onto my side isn’t as easy as it used to be, but I know that if I don’t turn over, I could be lying like this forever. So with limbs flapping and twisting, I finally manage to right myself onto my side – it’s amazing how just this is a workout. And to make it even more exciting, I’ve developed sleep apnea so I am usually gasping for breath when I awake or making some extremely attractive sputtering or snorting noises; how my partner resists me is beyond me. I am the epitome of hotness – oh, wait, that’s just another heat flash.

Then there is the body pillow. Or as my partner calls it, ‘the third person in our bed.’ It is huge…and soft and fluffy, and I love it. In fact, he’ll go before it does. And don’t you know, I cling to that thing in my sleep like a flotation device. In fact I’d like to velcro it to my body and walk around just hugging it, maybe lean against it when I get tired and catch a few zzz’s at the post office. Come to think of it, it may improve my overall demeanor.

The other day, feeling stubborn and insistent that this belly was not going to dictate everything in my life, I set out to give myself a pedicure. Mind you, this is not something I find easy even at the best of times, but determined I was. So I got out all the utensils and set myself up in the living room to work wonders on my toes. About three minutes into it I realized either I was going to have to hook my leg over one shoulder like a cirque du soleil acrobat so I could reach my feet or call for help. I opted – foolishly – for the former. So there I was, at some ridiculous angle, probably crushing the skull of my child in utero, so I could make my toes look presentable (hey, my face and toes is pretty much the only thing I have going for me at the moment, one has to work with what they have).

The other new symptom of my current state is the joy of Braxton Hicks. I love these innocuous non-descriptive terms to describe something that is anything but that. For those of you that have not experienced this, let me walk you through it. Suddenly out of nowhere, your entire belly contracts and tightens like it’s about to explode and you feel like your child’s backside is about to bust through your stomach lining. This usually happens of course when you’re trying to sleep, which makes the whole nighttime experience a real treat. And yes, it certainly is preparing oneself for what is to come i.e. not only is your life no longer your own, but you will never sleep again. So I’ve been told.

God this kid better be cute and know how to do housework (I kid I kid).
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