One of those girls

I swear. I'm trying to be discreet and somewhat nonchalant about this whole growing a kid thing. (Even though I really do think it is a big, huge deal.) Or at least I'm trying not to play up the part where my belly gets big, and I have to start adjusting my wardrobe. But pregnancy is, indeed, getting the best of my figure so I might as well embrace it. If you're interested in seeing the horizontal progression of my midsection, you can click here. Otherwise, the rest of this post is just some amusing observations I made about my own early pregnancy sillyness. Maybe other pregos can relate. Maybe not. Either way, it's always good to laugh at yourself.

19 April 2010

Some things I’ve been up to as a first-time prego:

-Buying a belly band at 7 weeks. Right. As if that "bump" is anything but last night’s enchilada. You’re bloated, baby. Get over it. I decided to break it in that same night I bought it. It was way too early for it and my pants kept riding up. Pretty sure that’s not the point. Belly band retired.

-Wore the belly band again at 10 weeks. I’m sure the rounding of my abdomen could be due to nothing other than a full set of intestines, once again, but I didn’t feel like working with my pants today so on it went.

-Trying to get the same amount of sleep I got before pregnancy and getting confused when I’m tired. Well, not confused. But whiny. I know; that’s way worse. Ask Josh – he has to live with it.

-Attributing most emotions, fatigue, pains, aches and general brain fog to pregnancy. I’m smart enough to know that I couldn’t finish most sentences before I was pregnant, much less find my keys every morning, but part of me still thinks this forgetfulness could, maybe, be hormone-related. Let’s blame it all on that.

-Making peace with weight gain. No, one better. I’m welcoming it. Granted, I want it to be mostly in the bust and belly area. Not in the thighs or behind, thank you. But most body changes that don’t cause discomfort or nausea are welcomed as a part of this big, mysterious season called pregnancy. Does my hair look shinier? Are my nails stronger? Of course they are. I’m pregnant.

-Checking myself out for the glow. I don’t think I have it yet, but I’m working on it. I’m really pulling for the second trimester. That’s when I start to show so I might as well look good while I’m overcoming rumors of sudden weight gain.

-Rubbing my belly all the time. I’m not sure why really. It’s not like I think it’s good luck and there’s not much there to rub. Pretty sure the almost-fetus can’t feel it anyway. But it’s what pregnant woman do, I think. I’ve seen it in the movies. So I guess I’ll keep doing it. Helps me feel pregnant since I sure don’t look it, belly band or not.

-Naming the little after the fruit he or she resembles each week. Started out as a blueberry. Then a raspberry. Then an olive. (Are they different sizes?) Well, now he/she’s a prune, minus all the wrinklies. How adorable – I know, I thought so too.

-Thinking about food almost all the time and getting pretty selfish too. Seriously. Isn’t this season about preparing to love a baby and sacrifice your sleep and tears and raw everything for him or her? So how am I getting away with being a primadonna for nine months, or at least the past several weeks? I’m going to have to quit this. I’m thinking it will happen when the kid starts kicking me in the middle of the night. Maybe then I’ll realize this is not about me. Until then, looks like I’ll be frequenting Vista Burger and alternating between soft serve and cherry limeades. Or on a good day, both.

-Refraining from booze, smokes and illicit drugs. Gotta give a little. Thought folks should know I’ve made this commitment.

-Not eating healthy food much at all. My breakfast of bacon and an over-sized blueberry pancake are laughing that I once planned to raise my child on “things white people like”, i.e., organic everything.

-Paying attention to what I can do well. (This is a good way to spend time, I think.) A friend of mine said this could be evidence of the baby’s giftings and talents. I thought I sang an Enya song particularly well today while I was laying out the wash to dry. Since I’m pretty sure a musician is brewing in my depths, I’m going to attribute the ability to hit all those high notes to him. Since I think it’s a him, but really, if it’s a her, I’m happy. Baby, whatever you are, I’m happy for you. Promise.