I am not completely myself...
By synnovemarte on August 28, 2013
As we round into the 3rd level of hell trimester, I have finally come to the realization that I am really not myself. Not even close. There are echos of my former humanity rattling around in here somewhere but that is all they are.... echos. I have become... THE INCUBATOR or THE GREAT GASPY or A WHALE CALLED SYNNØVE .. just pick one and run with it. It's not like I can... run, that is... or even walk quickly, really.... *sigh*
Anyhoo... While there are many things I am not (like ambulatory, continent, or sentient) there ARE a few things I still am.
- I am so roundly gargantuan that it's gotten to the point where Hubbs no longer asks if I'm okay when he hears a bunch of panting, grunting, and painful groaning coming from the other room... he just assumes I am trying to stand up. And he's right...
- I am the hugely pregnant Mom who inspires all the other children in my son's class to beg loudly and publicly for a sibling. No, no... go ahead and throw me the shark-eye, other Moms. I get it. No hard feelings....
- I am the human dirigible who trips over NOTHING in the middle of downtown Nashville and falls on the sidewalk much to the complete horror of everyone around me. I couldn't stop myself. Where the belly goes, so go I... damnit.
- I am starting to dream about giving birth... Yeah, I've hit that point. The best part of the dream is when I can actually bend over afterwards and breathe properly. There is always this intense sense of physical relief at the end as I cradle my my new baby (or rag doll as in my last dream where I gave birth to Raggedy Ann in the shower. Freud THAT!) to my chest and go about my daily life as if nothing has happened. No pain, no blood, no unnamable goo... just sweet relief.
- I am THAT pregnant lady who has grown too large for actual maternity clothes by month 7 and must move on to big dude tee-shirts from Wal-mart or two table cloths sewn together...
- I AM the heavy breather in the elevator....
- I am so big my stomach is no longer suitable for my children to blow razzberries on as the skin is too tightly stretched. They have had to substitute with Daddy; a hairier but viable substitute. He is THRILLED.
- I am that wife who asks my Hubbs to "Be honest... how much bigger HAS my ass gotten?". He usually just says "I love you!" and moves away quickly or smiles and says "I don't know what you are talking about.". For a lawyer, he is a terrible liar...
- I am that un-handicapped woman who seriously considers the little motorized scooters in Wal-mart when we go grocery shopping....
- I am afraid to sneeze...
- I am, as my son likes to say, "preeeeegnant". (Draw that out with a Tennessee drawl and then giggle maniacally and you've got it. Oh, and you need to be shirtless, wearing a camo trucker hat with 4 year olds farmer tan.) Yup, mah little man, I am... with all those extra vowels and everything.
So these things I am and maybe a bit more (depending of whether my little tumbler in training takes the night off or not). And it's only going to get worse before it gets better... And then.... then.... into the Newborn Fog we go. Good times, good times.... But at least I will be able to bend over. :)
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