I’ve been away for some time. Its not because I lost my funny bone, it’s because I’ve gained something. I’ve gained weight, especially around my tummy. Thats right, I am currently in my 9th month of pregnancy (although I look about 2 years in) and I am just a large bundle of emotions, confusion, and a whole lot of reshuffled priorities. Sure, I’ve experienced many of the wonderful aspects of reproduction; glowing skin, thicker hair, lower IQ, but there are so many more adventures that await one in the third trimester, or what I like to call: Proof of Satan.
My first 2 trimesters were amazing; I had no nausea, almost no bad symptoms, and was just floating on a cloud of air and progesterone. Then as I hit the third, almost right on cue, all the woes and aches you read about started to manifest. Not only was my belly the size of a small african village, but my back was now screaming “I didn’t sign up for this, fatso!” Along with my vanished waist, my ankles now turned shy and decided to dress up as elephant trunks.
Other things vanish as well. Like every morning, I’m sure I put on underwear, and yet when I return home after a long day of working, it takes surgery to locate and remove them. Maternity underwear? These things look like they could parachute you to safety from a crashing jet. I’m going to keep mine after delivery to donate to refugee camps as I’m sure a single pair could sheild a small family from the elements.
Simple everyday tasks that you take for granted suddenly become cause for concern. Sitting on the ground? Enjoy the 3 and a half hours it will take you to get up now. Dropped something? This is where you ask yourself “how badly do I need that credit card in my life?” Toenails getting long? Well maybe it is a time to change my foot look from ‘normal human’ to ‘fetching hobbit’.
Oh and one of my favourites: not only am I the size of a small sumo wrestler now but my libido has never been higher. And its hard to feel like a vixen when just turning in bed causes you to emit sounds like one of the zombies from World War Z. Now when I’m feeling raunchy all I can do is lay on my side and hope husband finds a crack big enough to penetrate me through. Sweet talk is now a thing of the past, where old sayings of “I need you” are replaced with “Come on soldier, be brave, mama needs a shudder.”
In addition to superficial changes, my insides feel like they are being rearranged by my precious little one. I always feel him punching around in my liver, probably because he found a stash of fun stuff there. I’m sure he’s just hanging around there, as bored as I am, redecorating, thinking ‘oh what’s this? Her G spot? Let’s just move this, she won’t be needing this for a while.”
Of course every mama has been dealt her fair share of asinine advice and infuriating questions. I genuinely don’t understand people who can still think that with all the technology we have, I wouldn’t know if I was carrying twins or not. Or the old wives tales like “Don’t eat pineapple or your vagina wille explode!” Case in point: I eat pineapple every day and me and little acrobat are doing just swell, thank you.
And ladies, just a small word of advice: if your birth experience was horrendous, you absolutely do not need to share your war story with an expectant mother. I literally envision for myself a wonderful, calm, glorious culmination for my pregnancy, so it does no use whatsoever to describe to me how your glory hole was shredded as you screamed for mythological deities to save your soul. I’m not naive in thinking things might not go horribly wrong, but I would like to bask in the hope that come DDay, I won’t need therapy to overcome the trauma. Delivery is a very personal and subjective experience, just like your first time, so I don’t need or want to hear the lurid details of how getting ripped a new one felt like.
But all jokes aside, pregnancy is a wonderful and magical experience. Even on my worst day, I would still do it all over again. And despite the several drawbacks, there are also numerous perks. For example, being pregnant makes strangers smile at you, which is a nice change from being flipped off. You usually get to cut in line when people pity what gravity is doing to you. And the most rewarding and wonderful perk of all is feeling a little baby move around inside you. Save for the rib kicking, I can’t help but smile when I feel that little bundle move around, elbowing me in my organs and dignity.