Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Ostentatious Spazziosity. But I'll take it.

The belly is obviously impossible to hide. It's out there in a big way.

And the resulting waddle is unavoidable. I can't help having to slightly lean back when I walk, with my toes turned out and my steps wider than normal.

The boobs, never for the faint of heart, are reaching ridiculous proportions. When Elizabeth was visiting a few weeks ago, upon seeing me for the first time she observed, "your ass hasn't gained any weight at all, but your boobs are massive."


And there is nothing I can do about any of these things, and they don't impede my ability to be productive at work or to interact relatively normally with the people in my life, so other than feeling a bit bulky, and not being as nimble as my non-pregnant self, I don't feel particularly self-conscious about my physical state.

But while I absolutely love feeling The Joey kick, she does it so relentlessly and so powerfully that it causes me to jump and squirm and gasp in a way that makes me feel like a complete spazz.*

I'll be sitting in a meeting with coworkers and suddenly the baby, who has been relatively still for a minute or two, throws her legs out, catches me in the ribs, and then keeps pushing so that her foot will cause my belly to visibly jump and undulate. And I'll gasp and sort of sit up suddenly, and the people I'm meeting with will get these concerned looks and be all, "OH MY GOD ARE YOU OK????"

And I'll explain that it's just the baby kicking and I was a little startled and sorry let's get back to what we were talking about.

It happens A LOT. And it makes me feel really self-conscious and stupid. Like people will be annoyed because I'm drawing attention to myself, even though I try not to as much as possible. It's so silly, because I know nobody cares, but I still feel weird about it.

It's better than the alternative, though.

Last week when I was in my doctor's office for my weekly appointment, I had to wait a really long time. And when the doctor finally came into the exam room, she was unusually subdued. She explained that the patient she had seen before me was also 34 weeks pregnant and came in for a routine exam, but when they went to listen to the baby's heartbeat, there wasn't one. The baby was dead. And this poor woman would have to be induced to go into labor, so she could deliver a dead fucking baby.

As the doctor was telling me this, I started to cry. The doctor said, "I don't want to alarm you by telling you this."

And I said, "no, I'm not upset for myself. Believe me, if this baby doesn't have a heartbeat, there is something really strange going on, because she never stops moving. I'm not worried."

So I guess feeling like a goober at work for the next few weeks isn't such a big deal after all.

*And yes, I know that word is politically incorrect and inappropriate. Don't email me.


  1. Elizabeth is the best kind of friend. ;-)

  2. She totally is. Though I think the boobs observation was said more in alarm than in any kind of complimentary terms, because they are seriously getting absurdly big.

  3. It wasn't quite alarm, but merely just an awe-inspired comment. They are some seriously giant boobs. But they look nice for giant pregnant boobs.

    But seriously noteworthy.

    And your ass is cute and small.

    It's really quite remarkable overall.

    And you're on the tail end of it all. (bwahahahaha)

    I hate to hear about that other woman. Anthony and I were at a Christmas party last year (I was about 32 or so weeks along) and a woman told me about her first baby, a son that had happened to. Mind you I am giant and waddling about at a festive event, pregnant with a boy. Merry Christmas lady. (She was horrified it came out of her mouth.)

    And while I am sorry Joey is causing you some discomfort, it's all for the good. (Also, if you have to jump about, I wish I could be there to see it.)

    Also, bwahahahaha.