I have mixed emotions about it. A LOT of emotions. People keep asking if I'm just "so ready to be done," but truthfully, I'm not. I mean, I get it. He's coming, ready or not. But then I have to share him with the world. (My husband is quick to point out that there will be plenty of times to come when I want very much - nothing more than - to share him with the world. With perfect strangers, if that's my only option.) But right now, it's me and him. I kind of like that.
There's some stuff I'll miss about being pregnant. (From my last post, which got a bit... graphic... it might not seem like it. Hey. This being pregnant shit is real, and sometimes, it's messy.)
- It's a special little club, it really is. There's a smile, almost a smirk, you get when people glance down and see a whole globe of a world growing under your tee shirt. It's supportive, encouraging, compassionate - even when there are no words exchanged. It makes me feel better to know that everyone loves a baby mama.
- While I know it's as vain as it is bullshit, I love - LOVE - being told I'm "the cutest pregnant girl, like, ever." I don't know why people say it. I know it's not true, mostly because I've said it, to multiple people, so clearly it can't be true. I don't care. I love it just the same. I've never been the cutest anything before, and there's a super good chance I never will be again. I'm milking it.
- That might be it.
- I know, you think I'm going to say booze first. Duh. I cannot wait to have a glass of wine. A bottle of champagne. A keg or so of Summer Shandy. Can. Not. Wait. But no, even more than booze - I miss clothes. Real clothes that aren't stretchy. I can't wait to not have three pairs of pants and a couple of tank tops to choose from. I love my clothes. I miss my clothes. Sometimes I just sit in my closet and talk to them.
- Working from the bottom up, ankles. I miss my ankles. They were never thin, but for crying out loud at least they were there. The tops of my feet look poppable by the end of the day. It's so gross.
- Reaching my ankles. I was a gymnast when I was younger. I've done yoga for the past decade or so. I am unaccustomed to having parts of my body I can't reach, let alone see. The six year old has to help me put my socks on. And never mind that he can't tie his own shoes, he judges me for not being able to tie mine.
- Speaking of places I can't see, grooming. I miss grooming. We can probably leave that one at that.
- A waist. Another duh. I used to have a waist. And ab muscles that were at least strong enough that I could sit up on my own from laying down, without hubby having to give me a shove. It's humbling.
- My shiny new rings. On my fingers. I wear my wedding ring around my neck right now, which is charming and pretty, but that's not why I do it. I do it because I'm afraid that even if I could fit it over my swollen sausage of a knuckle, I wouldn't be able to get it back off and they'd have to cut me out of it at the hospital and hubby would be maaaaad.
- I miss being able to call people just to say hi or, you know, I love you, and not have them respond with thinly veiled disappointment. "Oh. Okay. Yeah, hi." Not confidence boosting. And by "people" I mean "my mom."
- Sex. Or more accurately, I miss missing sex. Because right now that just sounds awful. Horrible. Seriously. No way.
- Being just generally huge. Did I tell you guys about the time a few weeks ago when the sixer, catching a glimpse of me in a bathing suit, opened his horrified little eyes and wrapped his tiny little hands around my thighs, asking, "Why are your legs so big?!" "Well babe, that happens when you get pregnant. Everything just gets a little bigger." Staring some more. "Yeah... but why are they so big?" "I don't know, okay? I don't know why they're so big. I can't figure it out. Punk." "They are SO. Big."
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