A couple days ago, while I was out driving around my new town, trying to figure out where things are and find cheap casserole dishes and maybe a cast iron pan that had been cast-off, I was struck by sudden hunger. This has become normal. I often find myself suddenly struck by things. The need to pee is common as is the urge to drink water and food so it wasn’t terribly shocking. But, the strength with which the urge came upon me was a little amazing. The dear-father-of-little-creep was with me. Because we had been living 1000 miles away from each other, he had only heard second hand accounts of this phenomenon. I’m pretty sure he didn’t fully appreciate how insane these needs really are. He’s been pretty sympathetic with the constant bathroom trips and that when I need to go, I need to go. Not in five minutes, not in ten, but now. When I realize I have to pee, we’ve got about 2 minutes to get me to the nearest restroom or wooded area so I can go. If not, I will suddenly need to sneeze and out it will come and then I still have to pee, but now I’m also sitting in my own quickly cooling urine and that is no fun for anyone. I had not realized the bladder was connected to the nasal cavities, but the proof is in the pudding or the puddle, so to speak if you want to be gross. I do. I want to be gross. I figure, these are the only months in my life when I can be totally disgusting and it’s okay. It’s not my fault after all. I am on auto-pilot here. My auto pilot just so happens to be set for course for gross.
Being on pregnancy related auto-pilot isn’t so bad when you are at home, in bed as I was for several months. I wasn’t prescribed bed rest or anything like that. I’m incredibly healthy and the pregnancy is moving along very smoothly. I just didn’t want to really get up to do anything. I would only put clothes and make up on because being in pajamas all day made me feel trailer trash and dumpy. It’s is hard enough looking like humpty dumpty naturally, without exacerbating it with dirty, stretched out pajamas or other such lounge wear. Also, if I’m wearing pajamas, I’m not wearing a bra and my tits are huge and heavy. Because gravity doesn’t get weaker during pregnancy I have to keep the girls hoisted up. It’s not so much an issue with them looking bad now. They look fine. I just don’t want them to get used to the stretch and then even when they are not so full of tissue to hang down to my belly button or have to be lifted to fasten a belt. Is that petty? Probably, but I’m pretty sure I don’t care. So, daily, I get up, I brush my teeth, wash my face, do something with my hair and put actual clothing on.
Because I no longer live in a house with two smelly dogs and one cute, little, perfect dog I find my clothing doesn’t get quite so dirty so I can just keep recycling them. Well, until I splatter bacon grease on them or finally decide the knees have stretched out too much and not look like they belong on elephants and not me. I’m still doing leggings most of the time. I did wear leggings most of the time before I was pregnant and I see no reason to change that now. I just wear bigger size leggings. I would really love some leather leggings but I’m pretty sure $1000 for legging I will wear for just a few more months is maybe a little silly. They would look hot though. Well, as hot as one can look 6 months preggers or more. Which, pregnancy fetishists aside, isn’t that hot.
When I’m at home, no matter how I’m dressed, I can really push the envelope when it comes to going to the bathroom or eating something because if I went to far, relief is only a second away. I’ve been known to grab a slice of bread while waiting for my egg and toast to cook or sprint to the bathroom and fling myself on the toilet when I’ve waited a bit too long to relieve myself. Inevitably, I sneeze halfway there and then I have to sprint while trying to hold my legs apart so I don’t get pee running down my legs. Yeah, that was really gross. Sorry. But, while out, I don’t have those options. In order to get some food, I can either go through a drive thu, which I avoid because I really don’t want my infant son to have tits from the phyo-estrogens in the soy products that act as fillers in almost all fast food items or to have digestive problems and behavioral problems from the corn syrup that is in all those items as well. Best not to start that while I’m still pregnant. I know I won’t be able to control what he eats his whole life, but while I’m all knocked up and keeping him safe in my belly, I can. Even going to a restaurant takes too much time to get the food on the table. Hell, finding a parking spot takes too much time. Usually, I carry some sort of starchy something with me all the time. This, more than anything, makes me feel like I’ve become a mom. I used to always have a flask with me. Now I always have a banana or maybe a pack of crackers. The other day, knowing that I was going to be out all day, I had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, an apple, a banana and a few slices of cheese.
I never used to worry about food. I was always a non-issue in my life. I ate when I was hungry and more often than not, if I was eating outside the house it was with friends and it was more like picking at the food and gulping down drinks. I guess those are the changes everyone talks about. The little creep totally forced me into it. He’s in control. He’s the pilot of this ship. I’m just the passenger. No, wait, I’m just the ship.