Monday, July 17, 2006

Pigs on Pregnancy

I haven't talked a whole lot about being knocked up with the Piglet on here, which is probably why it caught some people by surprise that I am seven months along. I haven't discussed it for a couple of reasons. One, I assume most people really don't care. If you're not pregnant yourself, or haven't been pregnant before, it's all kind of uninteresting and annoying. Two, I'm really not all that into it myself, so I haven't seen the need to discuss it. Three, I have a sneaky suspicion that there is a high likelihood that this formerly education-centric blog might dissolve into an extended series of poop posts here in the fall. Not that that will really be that different from my current poop posts, but you know what I mean. It's coming, folks. My life will temporarily be entirely consumed by all things Piglet and I will have little else to write about.

I've tried really hard to understand my friends and acquaintances who have just adored being pregnant. I'm talking to the point that they lamented its loss upon the birth of the baby. I, for the record, do not understand these people. I'm not opposed to the idea of being pregnant. It's just that I would just rather an instant infant would appear after about two months. [Note: Instant Infant! © If the technology ever becomes available, you read it here first. I claim rights.) I just want the kid. Not so much on the whole pregnancy gig, but it's a means to an end.

Here are my candid observations of pregnancy thus far:

1. You get kinda fat. I didn't gain for quite a while and thought this whole thing might be a big hoax. But then Piglet started to takeover. We have now reached hostage situation caliber Takeover. I'm only round in front. This scenario is actually a good thing because I don't technically feel fat. I primarily feel deformed. Today I put all of my size large t-shirts leftover from when that was cool in college back on the shelf in exchange for my husband's size XL men's monster shirts that even swallow him whole. The husband is a slight man with good shoulders and arm muscles, slightly taller than me. I now weigh more than he does. Not really good for either of our egos.

2. Sausage fingers. Only when I walk, though, and often is that? There's nothing more attractive than looking down and seeing eight swollen puffy digits teeming with fluid, turning white from pressure. Dead sexy. But my nails look good. Thank you, prenatal vitamins.

3. Dog nose. I stole this phrase from the book Diary of a Mad Mommy-To-Be because it's so accurate and it makes me snicker. I have always been overly blessed with an acute sense of smell, but now it has been upgraded to canine bomb squad quality abilities. Generally, this is not good. I can effortlessly sniff out flatulence three rooms away and detect a rotten apple in the bottom of a garbage can upon entering a room. Everything smells nasty. Except chocolate chip cookies. All can be fixed with a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies.

4. Gas - Maybe it's because I'm having a boy, but I now have the ability to rip one off just like a guy. We're talking strength, intensity, infiltration, the works. It's so much fun. Unless I'm in public. I miss having students to blame it on.

5. Clumsiness - Being that I am on the lowest end of the grace scale to begin with, I feel that I am perfectly qualifed to assess the storm by which general klutziness has plagued my every move. I crash into door frames that have been in my home for the entire time I've lived here. I drop every single thing I touch or hold. I bash my head on furniture on my way down to pick up whatever I've dropped. I run into stuff with my stomach all of the time. I have absolutely no concept of my size and I really believe that I still fit into small spaces. Not so much. This phenomenon is allegedly attributed to having an extra 50% blood volume in your system. I personally believe that it's a part of the Takeover designed to wear you down psychologically.

6. Bloodbath - Speaking of all that blood, I don't find the spewing forth of it from nose and gums particularly endearing. The nosebleeds and bloody boogers are simply unpleasant, but the blood geysers when flossing cannot be good for my dental health. Going to the dentist last week was particularly perplexing as I explained this condition to the hygienist, only to have her do that flossing technique that only a good hygienist can enact [Whaaaa-PAM! Snap! Whaaaa-PAM! Snap!] upon my blood engorged gums only to create a colossal mess upon her smock. Heh.

7. Baby Brain - Hmm. I can't remember what I was going to say here.

8. Crotch - It seems that sometimes, babies are so low? That they try to push your crotch out of your body. And then sometimes? They get into a little game of Kicky McPuncherson with your bladder? And you spontaneously pee. Not me, of course. Just something I've heard. But did I mention that I pee every 20 minutes or so? Our water bill is so high I've had to resort to the "If it's yellow, let it mellow. If it's brown, flush it down" rule of thumb. Was that too much information? Anyone want to come over? You can use my bathroom?

9. Kicking - Speaking of Kicky McPuncherson, the kicks and wiggles were so cute at first! Darling, really. Barely detectable little flutters of life. Now? We have a junior kickboxing champion in there who is situated in a manner in which his feet kick out my side. Think about that. Little feet kicking out of my side. This is only topped by the little hands on the other side that have found their way under my ribs and like to push outward.

10. Bed Takeover - Gus and my husband are now required to sleep on approximately 1/4 of the bed. Together. Not because I'm so obscenely large, but because it takes 3 pillows, plus a full-sized body pillow to make me comfortable at night. Gus tries valiantly to find a snippet of space for himself, to little avail and spends much of his slumber blowing and huffing in disdain as he sleeps quite cramped between Mike's ankles. I know, because I'm up peeing about 8 times a night.

This concludes Pigs on Pregnancy, month seven.

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