This morning I walked into our office where Andrew was quietly working at his desk, now strewn with my papers and dishes and trash. I lifted up my shirt to reveal my large white belly complete with darkened pigment line that I think must be nature’s way of pointing toward the place the baby will come out. Just in case you hadn’t figured it out on your own.
Glowing with a fresh dose of cocoa butter and shining like the sun in the morning light, my stomach protruded further than it had even the previous day.
Andrew raised his eyebrows slightly indicating that although he knew the type of woman he had married he also frequently forgets the exaggeration she uses to make a point.
“I don’t have any more room!” I said.
“I think you have room.” He said.
“No.” I said definitely.
“Well, I think you’re supposed to stretch.”
“Stretch what?! I’m not made of spandex. You don’t see teenagers trying me on and looking at me in the mirror of Forever 21 and saying, ‘Is this too tight?’ to their friends.” (note: I actually didn’t say this but thought it.)
As I enter the third trimester I realizing why my sister-in-law once said to me, “I feel bad for pregnant women in the first and third trimester. I have no pity for the second.”
She’s right. Second is the best…and it’s gone!
As I walked with my mom today I literally felt like my stomach might just fall off the front of me. I feel full all the time but starving all the time. I feel even more tired than before.
Recently I’ve actually been feeling faint. I called my doctor and of course they told me the typical stuff. “Put your feet up. Push fluids.” Put and Push…that’s all they ever say. Soon enough they’ll be tell me to put my feet up and push the baby out of my totally unprepared birth canal into my totally unprepared arms.
My mom said I might be dehydrated or anemic and that water and red meat were probably the best two things I could consume.
Knowing that this would fall on deft ears, my mom texted Andrew and told him the same thing. The next morning I found 4 hard boiled eggs on the kitchen counter waiting for me with this note:
Tonight we’re having burgers.
So despite the fact that I’m getting more uncomfortable every day…I’ll do what I have to to make sure that this baby is hard boiled. I’m totally will and enabled to do what I have to do to make this baby healthy and safe. Those hard boiled eggs inspired me! I can do it. I know it!
Girl, we’re going all the way whether you like it or not. You’re gonna be fully cooked if I have to every hard boiled egg and every bloody piece of meat this side of the border. You’re gonna be full term – all 9 months – even if that means I have to sit in a tub of cocoa butter with my feet up for twenty minutes a day. Grow all you want. This is war baby and I don’t know what the word surrender means.