I’ve reached the end days phase. The bit of being pregnant where I’m constantly thinking “well this could be the last time I wear this T-shirt before I have a baby.” Or “this could be my last shower without a baby.” Or even, “Maybe the next time I light the wood stove I’ll have a baby.” And on and on and on. It’s all very exciting. I can’t wait to have my body back to myself again, and I can’t wait to find out what giving birth feels like.
Looking back its been a pretty pleasant pregnancy. There was that uncomfortable four months of puking, but it’s far enough in the past now that I’ve already begun to repress the memories—or better put, my brain has started to take the kick out of them. Then there was the fun part when I first started to show but had yet to begin the gradual descent into gestational-crippledom and general exhaustion. Which, I might add, culminated last night in me carrying a large bowl of salad for twenty meters, and it destroying my back to the point that I was no longer able to remove clothing or leave the bed without help. My walk went from penguin waddle to shuffling, malfunctioning robot in seconds. After the Beard rubbed some magical herbal stuff on it I was eventually able to manage a shimmy/crawl down the mattress though, so at least I didn’t have to wake him up to carry me to the chamber pot for my 340 nightly trips to the toilet.
But for the most part I’ve had a really easy time health-wise, and I am so glad that so far (knock on wood people, there is still time for the demons to find me and try to drive me into the hospital) I haven’t had any serious health issues. Here here. Ladies who have had health issues during pregnancy: I salute you. I think of you all the time and how strong you must be to get through that shit. I haven’t had to deal with anything serious, and it’s been a pain in the ass, so I can only imagine what some of you have made it through. Good job.
I’ve never been much of a belly talker—though I sometimes like to imagine that maybe she can pick up images if I concentrate on them just right—but lately I’ve started giving Mount Peanut motivational speeches about how great it is out in the world, you know, in case she thinks she might be ready to pack up and leave the water cave. At this point she’s safe, physically, to come, and if labor started at the end of this sentence I’d be euphoric. All the sappy feelings about being excited to meet her aside, I can’t wait to be alone in my own skin again. I have never looked forward to jogging so much in my life. Not to mention the little things I miss, like walking fast and carrying stuff and not getting winded by a walk to the bathroom Wagen. And oh my god, laying on my stomach! And on my back! And sitting close to a table! Now those were the days.
Oh my cod and the birth! That is going to be amazing! The miracle of life! My body doing crazy ass shit I never thought possible! A fully formed human being emerging from my innards! A brain built by my body on autopilot! Eyes that can look and a mouth that makes noises! I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, this is the stuff of magic. I’m prepared for everything and for nothing, for magic and pain and tears and to come out of a trance to find myself on all fours on my bed mooing like an agitated cow. Wish us luck…
We’re running a little guessing pool for our friends to bet on the date of Peanut’s arrival. I’d include you in it, but I think it’s probably illegal to run random internet gambling circles. Either way, if you feel like putting in your psychic ten cents, leave us your guess in the comments. The gyno says February 20th and the midwife says February 19th. I say “get this thing out of me as soon as possible,” so I’m just assuming that she’ll wait until the last possible second, ie 14 days later. If you get it right, maybe I’ll even send you a little present.
Want to read more about my gorilla pregnancy? Check out these posts… (Or check out the entire gorilla prego category here.)
singing during pregnancy (wherein I lament having to vomit onstage at 37 weeks)