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| Monday, July 25, 2005 I was standing in line with JB at the grocery store the other day when a very friendly girl asked me how far along in my pregnancy I was. "Almost eight months," I said, and she exclaimed loudly about how exciting it was and congratulations and wow, I was so tiny for eight months! "You're not really eight months," JB told me later. "You can't be!" "Listen, I know it doesn't seem right," I replied, "but I'm almost 32 weeks, aren't I? And there are, what, 4 weeks in a month? And 32 divided by 4 is EIGHT, isn't it? I mean, that whole 9 months thing is a myth, dude, because there are 40 weeks to a pregnancy." Annoyingly, JB demanded a calculator and instantly proved me wrong - the fatal flaw in my logic being that there are, in fact, 4.3 weeks in a month on average. Next time someone asks, I'm just going to say "I'm due September 18" and let them work it out. Decimals are not my friends. It seems like in the last week my belly has grown visibly, enough that no sane human would now call me "tiny" unless I was being compared to, say, a wooly mammoth. A bunch of size-related discomforts that have been gradually increasing: putting on pants or underwear (involves bending over slightly, which I can otherwise avoid by using my prehensile toes to grasp things on the ground), getting into the bathtub, sitting on the toilet (I would describe the counterweight move I do while lowering my butt to the seat that involves stretching my arms in front of me like a gymnast, but really, I don't want you to picture such an undignified thing), and switching from one side to the other in bed (see also: grunting, heaving). When I touch my midsection now, instead of the springy water-balloon feeling it had even a couple weeks ago, my fingers encounter a hard surface that's usually rippling wildly with hidden baby parts. Often times when I'm sitting, I have the disconcerting feeling I'm squashing him somehow, it seems like there can hardly be enough space for both of us to share this body. Especially when he launches into one of his several-times-a-day stretch/squirm routines, which runs my personal sensation spectrum from "sort of ticklish" to "um, OUCH". I've found myself gently pushing on what I assume to be his feet (please god let me not be pressing on his eyeballs), hoping to encourage him to adopt a less uncomfortable position, but he usually just pushes me right back, with a follow up kick to the ribs for good measure. I remember when I first felt him move, how it was this popcorn-bubble sensation that I could barely distinguish from my normal digestive bloops and blorps. It's hard to believe that was the same creature who is currently determined to make a jailbreak straight out of my navel, because apparently he's heard about the planned exit process and he's calling bullshit on that. Seriously, there is nothing weirder than looking down at your belly and seeing a recognizable appendage appear below the skin, stretching out like a scene from Videodrome. The pregnancy books all talk about heartburn and acid reflux, but for some reason I held out hope those particular unpleasantries would pass me by. I guess I was thinking it might be a hormonal thing, kind of like morning sickness, and that I might luck out. Well, no, it's not a "hormonal" thing, it's more of a "you're housing a raccoon-sized mammal in your THORAX" thing. My stomach is smashed in half, or something, like I've had gastric bypass surgery - food goes in, then it just sort of....sits there, until I lie down, then the vanilla ice cream I had after dinner creeps halfway up my throat, because hey man, there's no room down here. On the plus side, those tropical fruit flavored Tums are actually pretty tasty. I haven't had a good night's sleep since the beginning of July. My lungs feel like they're operating at 12% capacity and the smallest incline makes me gasp and snort like a Pekinese. I pee five hundred and fifty thousand times per day. My back is killing me and my stomach is dodgy and I've used up all my sick days at work. Also, I had to buy a new bra this weekend, a Plorty-foo Flubble Snee, to fit my giant pregnancy hooters which now basically can be described as "Dolly Parton-sized, except droopier". I am a burping, waddling, wheezing, gimping, sweating, sleep-deprived, jimmy-legged, digestively impaired train wreck. So how crazy would I sound if I told you that I think this is the happiest I've been in my whole life? :::: Subject change! Because, ha ha, I think we could ALL use a break from my pregnancy symptom laundry list! (Did I mention the constipation brought on by iron supplements? Oh, I didn't?) JB and I walked around Alki Beach yesterday, and took the water taxi over to Pike Place and back. The weather was fantastic, and I am pleased to report the new shaked iced tea lemonade drink from Starbucks is superb (although just try and say "Arnold Palmer" three times fast - go ahead! You can't, can you, Slurry McGarblemouth?). We took a bunch of photos, which I will subject you to now. Oh, and I grabbed a short video of a young guy playing some kind of amazing instrument I've never seen or heard before - take a peek, would you? I'd be interested to hear about what that thing is, if you know.
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