I’m really kinda enjoying being fat with my bastard child now. All the things that are suppose to be causing me extreme discomfort are really not at all. When I wake up, sure my hands and feet are a little bit swollen, but I move around and that goes away. I’ve had that, literally, all my life. I remember being four and having the same problem so I’ve dealt with it before. It’s just a part of being me and shit.
Speaking of shit, I’ve totally gotten used to be super gassy too. It took a while for that. Not for it to happen, because it happened fast, but for me to become okay with it. I’ve mentioned this before, but I feel it bears repeating, I pay an inordinate amount of attention to my bowels and the health of my gut. I haven’t had stinky poop or gas, but rarely, in at least six years. Stinky poop is caused by food not being properly digested. Gas is caused by food not being properly digested. I made sure my food was properly digested, so I didn’t really have problems with that. Apparently, food does not properly digest when the old baby maker is on the on position. I’ve tried upping my digestive enzymes and probiotics to no avail. I know this sounds strange, but I think it may have something to do with all the extra water I’m drinking. Even when not making human life, I drink around three liters of water a day and that has doubled since early in the first trimester. Easily doubled.
For me, pregnancy is pretty easy. I’ve had a bit of restless legs lately at night but once I do finally decide to sleep, I’m able to sleep well enough. The sleep of the dead. Not quite the coma-like sleep I was getting in the early part of the pregnancy, but restful and pleasant. The best part of pregnancy though is that through the ages, other women have had horrible pregnancies so I’m given the consideration that all my foremothers have earned. Other women have bitched and complained about it so much that it is part of human identity to know that pregnancy is hard and that women who are making babies should be treated nicely.
Pregnant women are allowed to laze about all day. They are expected to not walk much. They are expected to eat a lot and for those foods to be crazy. Yes, there are some days when I just can’t get out of bed. Some of that may be because I’m knocked up, but really, I’m pretty sedentary to begin with. Since I stopped working normal people jobs, two and a half years ago, I’ve been prone to sleep all the day on some days and have lived a pretty relaxing sort of life. I prefer a slower pace and because I’m now pregnant, I’m totally allowed that. The best part is, when I do get things done and move about, I’m treated like a precocious child. Not an annoying precocious child (I was an annoying precocious child so I know a lot about this subject) but like a precocious child who is helpful and everyone adores. That I get up and take a shower and make food and clean and do a little light gardening is treated like I got up and ran ten miles before I went to work for 12 hours and then came home and made dinner. It’s kinda a win win. I only have to do what I enjoy doing and I get praised for it.
I know other pregnant women are not making it up that they feel like shit and that they want their pregnancies to just be over with when they get to the end, but I’m not one of them. I do feel for them though and I use the goodwill given to them to my advantage. I only hope the next part of this whole making life thing is just as easy for me and I will be able to soak it up when I have a kid with me not just inside me. Here’s hoping for an easy infant and for the return of normal poop.
At 8 months pregnant, I’m not tired of it. Sure, there are moments when I really would like to wear some of my other clothes but I’m sure if I had wanted to shop for maternity clothes and find cute stuff, I wouldn’t really be feeling that so much. I do have a few maternity items that I still can’t fit into. Hand me downs from friends and they are huge on me. I’ve gone with a more streamlined look for my gestating time. I wore leggings with tank tops and cardigans before I got preggers and I still do now. The only aspect of the look I can’t pull off now is the studded belt. I lost the studded belt when it started to look like I had a gross beer belly.
A quick look around pregnancy status boards tells me I’m in the minority. Some of the other women were sick and tired of being pregnant a month ago. Many incubators are talking about their elective c-sections that are scheduled for a couple weeks from now. I don’t agree that is such a great idea, but they can do what they want and I do understand the desire to bypass the actual labor part and just get straight to baby in arms. Labor, if you haven’t done it before, can sound a bit scary. There are so many variables involved but potentially it can be a pretty simply procedure provided the kid is in the right position and the mother has maintained mild level of fitness and can deal with a little hard work and some exhaustion. None of the other knocked up chicks seem to be having a good time.
For me though, I’m enjoying knowing where the kid is and that he is being taken care of, with little or no effort on my part. Really, I just sleep when my body tells me to sleep, drink when my body tells me to drink and eat when my body tells me to eat. I already prefer to sit as to stand and to lay down as to sit, so like Winston Churchill, I’m a great saver of energy. With the kid safely inside my friggin’ huge belly, I don’t even have to sooth him when he’s upset. He does that all by himself. Sure, I may not now if it’s his little head I’m holding my hand on or his little butt, but that’s okay too. Either way. There is still some sort of connection and it’s kinda cute. We even play little games. I’ll poke next to some lump and then he’ll poke back. I’ll do it again and he’ll do it again. And again. And again. I’m prone to be a little irritating so I’m sure my friends are relieved to find out my annoying tendencies extend even to my unborn monster.
I do look forward to meeting this kid. This insane child who chose me and his dad to parent him. I’m excited to see what he’s going to look like and then compare him to other people’s children and see that he is far superior to them. I’m excited to brag on facebook about how quickly he is learning to do things, things like rolling over or pulling my hair. I’m really excited to smell him. My mum is too. She calls it new baby smell and that’s kinda cute. As he grows I’ll be excited to see what he loves and what he wants to be. I’m kinda hoping I will end up with a little weirdo who likes ballet, piano and wants to be a cowboy. I have my reasons for that and hopefully, so will he.
For now though, I’ll enjoy my last few weeks of not being a mom. Yup, for the rest of my life, I will soon be a mom. Fuck. That just hit me like a ton of bricks. It’s like when I got married when I was in my early 20s. I cried at my wedding not because I was happy, but because I would forever, from that point on be married or divorced. I would never be single again and I knew that was huge. This though, this always from a few weeks forward being a mother, this giving up my childless title, while much, much more significant, isn’t making me cry. To tell you the truth (god, I hate saying that, it’s not like everything I say without saying “to tell you the truth” is a lie) I’m not sure how it really feels. My heart is racing a little. I have some butterflies in my stomach. I can feel a little sweat forming on my palms and I’m definitely a little warmer than before. So, I guess that is my amygdala sending adrenalin all over my body and initiating the fight or flight response. Ha! Not much hope for flight from this. Also, my head is a little dizzy and I’m feeling a little tingly. Low blood pressure? Faint or fight response? That sounds about right.
Pregnancy for me has meant a lot of things. Sure, there are the standards. Weight gain, strange growth in abdomen, listlessness followed by manic cleaning and gardening, strange eating patterns (one week oranges, the next peppers and the following baked goods) a whole host of aches and pains (I swear for a week there I felt like I had stretched my inner thighs too much, like when I was trying to coax my pre-teen body into the middle splits, the coolest splits of them all) and a litany of of other irritations that have been covered ad nauseam in the motherhood blogs and facebook rants on the internet already. For me though, it has been more of a long diplomatic meeting handled not by the secretaries of states, but by the rulers themselves.
Being 32, I have long since dealt with the teen angst inspired rhetoric of youth that causes one to lash out at their parents for what they did or did not do. I have stopped judging them as parents and started judging them as people. This happened years ago. I moved from home, permanently, as a teenager so I never did have the protracted wars for independence like many of my friends did and as a result, there is less emotional fallout and I was able to tackle the rebuilding aspect of the war and handle the diplomacy mission much earlier. I think we all have benefited from a few thousand miles of good road and somewhat intermittent communications. That, I think, is the basis of a solid diplomatic relationship: enough distance so one state is not an immediate threat to the other and sporadic yet sincere communications. I’ll take my Nobel Peace Prize now.
My relationship with my parents is what I think it should be. We are all fine with what we’ve established as our standard and for the most part, it’s been satisfactory or better. However, the diplomacy has seen a few bumps in the road since I’ve been preggers. It’s not because of me. It isn’t about my relationship with the foreign states of my parents, it’s about the diplomatic relationships between the feuding states known as Mum and Daddy and the new, scion of Me, the new Republic of Baby. Given that The Republic of Baby is just starting out, it’s power to cause diplomatic tension is a little shocking. Truth be told, we, as Allied States don’t even know what the temperament of the new state will be and we are already trying to dominate and control him. It is my new state, after all. A break away republic that was indeed started by a group of dissenters and I feel that I should be able to decide his fate.
I’m not angry about it, these rebels. In fact, I do plan to give them aid. Years of aid. I will provide for the fledgling states infrastructure, I will give it food aid and I will shelter it until it can not just stand on it’s own two feet but until it is ready and able to provide those things for itself. I will also post my own troops on its border and protect it from all enemies until it has a standing army strong and well trained enough to protect them itself. Kinda like Germany for the past half century but without all the atrocities.
This new republic will be well cared for and I will see to it that it’s policies are sound and that is where the problem is starting for diplomatic relations with other states. The problems are simple ones and ones that you wouldn’t think would be a problem. Such as when actual independence will take place. I intend to treat the new state more as a territory, like Puerto Rico or Guam and keep it officially attached and in bed with me. One of my diplomatic ties has a problem with this, saying I could end up smothering the state and have it die suddenly in the night. I feel it is my decision to make as the new state is not yet able to make solid decisions about this sort of thing, considering it’s government is too new and not yet fully formed. I’m hoping the this will be resolved during the long week I’m visiting the allies in summer with the new territory in tow.
We have not had issues with what the official religion of the state will be yet, but as one of my parent states is a Papist, we may have some problems in the future with that issue. I suspect the question of baptism will come up at some point and I will have to remind one or both allies of my prior stance on government and religion. Hopefully, that will be resolved with little compromise on my part and understanding on the other states parts. We will know in July after the summit. I know, having seen the raising of another scion, this one from my sister state, we will have issues with what sort of aid is allowable. I would prefer gifts to be few and far between and solid and durable and not made of plastic. This was my sister state’s wish as well for her own new territory, but those requests were mostly ignored and defended that it is for the benefit of the territory and not the parent state and those arguments are hard to rebut. After all, when you have not calved a territory from your own already, you don’t really have the real world experience to judge what the new territory will actually need or want. I even must admit, I even took an insane pleasure in clothing and outfitting the new territory with quality goods that would benefit it for years to come and also messy, noisy items that would inevitably drive my sister state insane when she found little plastic choking hazards all over her house 10 or 15 years after the aid was delivered by air drop.
Such is world politics though. There is give and take and relationships grow and change over the years. Hopefully, the summit this summer will see new new treaties signed that will establish solid relationships between all the states, new and old.
I woke up to an empty house this morning. Ahhhh, bliss. Well, it’s not exactly morning, but it’s morning to me. I’ve been working late nights to help the baby daddy to get a shipment of backorders out so his customers will be happy and we can take new orders because new orders mean new money and that roughly translates to baby stuff. I have 8-12 weeks left to go with this pregnancy. Some days, it feels like I’ve been pregnant forever and then I remember what I was doing just one year ago. Thank goodness I didn’t have to suffer through IVF or timing my ovulation or anything like that a year ago.
No, instead I was just arriving back in LA ,after a year abroad, with a broken heart and nothing but my car and my dog and a whole lot of suitcases full of clothing. There were a few boxes of china that my father had passed down to me from his side of the family in the car too, but for the most part, I had nothing. And now. Well, now I’ve left the city I called home for a decade and hoped to never leave, once again. Because of my friend S. E. who bravely picked up and moved to Barcelona, (here is her blog about it, she’s a great writer, very witty http://www.sharonvioletabarcelona.blogspot.com/) I have been reunited with my old lamps and I do have my books and my bed, but I’m pretty much starting out again. I have a new home. I still have the car. I still have the dog. Now I’ve got a belly and a little mutant growing in it who just spilled the coffee I was resting on my belly (I’ve come to find it is a nice place to rest the laptop or a plate with peanut buttered toast or coffee, I’m now going to rethink the coffee).
I’ve been doing a lot of reading and a lot of calling home to talk to my mom or my sister. It’s kind of nice to talk to other’s who have also made life. Although, I’m not talking to one of them right now because I had one hell of a fight with my mother because I refuse internal exams during my prenatal appointments. She told me I was going to “kill that baby and would never forgive myself.” She can be a bit dramatic. I don’t really think that she thinks not letting a doctor shoved their gloved hand up my who-who will “kill” the baby. I think what she is really worried about is that I’m planning an unassisted home birth. Just me and the dad and the kid (eventually.) I think, because I’m eschewing Modern Medical Advances when it comes to how I deliver my child, she thinks I’m just not going to take care of my body (or the monster) before. I do have to admit, I haven’t seen a doctor regarding myself or the little bugger growing inside me since I left LA. I’m about a month overdue when it comes to prenatal appointments. But, I also know that everything is fine. I take my blood pressure and watch my sugar intake (which is getting harder because all I want is friggin’ sugar now, in baked goods form.) I’m eating well and my fundus (what was once referred to as my uterus) is right where it should be and the little creep has been River Dancing in there for ages now and spilling my coffee for me.
That was actually how the conversation with the accusation that I will kill the kid started. I was giving her my updates. Feet swollen: sometimes but only when I stand in one place for a long time. Hungry: not so much these days. Belly getting big: yes, my fundus is four fingers from my belly button and I feel like a whale. Heartburn: OMG! I never knew the real horrors of heartburn, but thanks the little stinky-butt I do and it sucks. Bad! Hemorrhoids: no. Actually, I’m fine. I eat a lot of fiber and take lots and lots of cod liver oil. Stretch Marks: Nope. Luckily, I spent a few years as an adult as a bit of a tub (200 lbs) so my skin has a little more give than many chicks who have never been heavy. I suspect the massive load of cod liver oil is also helping to keep my skin supple while it stretches like crazy. Trouble sleeping: yeah, it’s hard to get comfortable but once I do, I’m fine and then I don’t get enough because the little stinker likes to wake around 11 am and start with the dance practice. That last one, is where the trouble started.
You see, my sister M and I were in a hostile environment when we were being cooked. My mother had had high blood pressure since she was fourteen years old and pregnancy wasn’t easy on her body. In fact, we were both tiny little things. Neither of us even made it up to 6 lbs. Good thing too, because not only does my mom’s body not regulate it’s blood pressure well, it also has some strange medical sounding condition regarding her pelvis. I keep wanting to write keloid but I know that is not at all correct. I know that is a scaring condition and has nothing to do with the shape of ones pelvis. At any rate, she has a narrow pelvis, a very narrow pelvis and had we been normal sized little monsters, we never would have made it out without undue assistance. In fact, my sister needed assistance but I suspect that was because she was being pulled from her happy home before she was really ready. The doctor had to go to a conference, you see, and didn’t want my mom to have my sister without him there.
However, my pelvis is formed very well. In fact, I’ve (in what seems the long distant past) been able to make a nice living based on how my hips rest at nice angles to my waist and how they are attached to a sweet pair of gams. I’ve even been a fit model a few times as well, so I know that I’ve got a body that is just right. No worries here about misshapen bones. I’m A-OKAY!
My kid will come sliding out just fine. But, it was the movement that really got to my mom. My sister and I hadn’t moved very much. Like I said, hostile environment and all. It was probably a challenge for us to just grow as we were suppose to. We didn’t have a whole lot of extra time to make little baby ruckuses in her belly. She indicated on the phone that all that movement is abnormal and she wants me to bring that up to my doctor. Yeah. That’s right. Tell my doctor that my unborn child is moving around a lot and that I see that a problem. I don’t see this as a problem but if I did, what, exactly is my doctor suppose to do about my kid moving around “too much?” Give me drugs so I can in turn drug the child so he will stop moving so much? Sigh.
I don’t think that would actually happen, nor do I think it’s a bad thing that he moves around in there like he’s at rehearsals for Swan Lake. That is what he what he is suppose to be doing after all. That and drinking his own amniotic fluid mixed with pee. And spill the coffee cup that I’m resting on my belly.
As I lie in bed, with swollen feet from working and a little monster River Dancing in my belly, I’ve been pondering some things. We’ve had a whole rash of terrible events all over the world. We’ve had earthquakes and tsunamis and I’m sure we will have some mudslides (I won’t be having the delicious, boozy, ice creamy kind of mudslide, but now that I mention it, I could really go for one) and this summer will probably bring us some pretty strong hurricanes (I could also go for a frozen hurricane right about now) and it is the start of the tornado season.
The earthquakes and tsunamis alone have caused my major reflection though. Because of them, we have radioactivity leaking into everything on this little biosphere of ours. It’s even in our food supply. Normally, even as a non-knocked up woman, I would be concerned about that. I prefer to eat foods with smaller amounts of radiation that what we are getting now. But, as a knocked up woman who is gestating life, it does make me wonder. Surely, radioactive food is a bad thing for my unborn monster, but what if it turns out to be a good thing?
I imagine my kiddo being born looking normal and seeming totally normal, but after a little while, I’ll slowly start to notice things are not quite right. Perhaps it will be that he sees perfecting in the dark or maybe that he can zoom him toys around his room using only his mind. I suspect that last one would only be fun when we have company. You know, to kind of show off the kid and what he can do. My mother used to make me play the flute for everyone who ate dinner at our home. I was embarrassing for all, but the toy flying thing probably wouldn’t be so. I imagine a whole age of children who can fly or shoot water out of their eyes or crawl on the walls. All because of the Japanese.
Imagine how pissed the Japanese people would be if none of their new babies had the powers but all the rest of the world did. It would make perfect sense for this to happen too. It’s never the country that started the problem that benefits from it and if you are dealing with comic book type scenarios, it is always something that starts in Russian or Japan. Maybe Cuba, but that would have been more true before they were economically ruined (and yet somehow much happier than the Western World who ruined them, namely, US.)
So, what am I hoping my little mutant’s super power is? Well, I’ll just be a typical, annoying preggers chick and say this, as long as he comes out healthy, I’m cool with whatever superpower he may happen to have, although I would prefer if he didn’t crawl on my walls.