dancing queen.

The belly has, for lack of a better word, popped.  No, I’m not being melodramatic and trying to scare or impress anyone.  My clothes don’t quite fit, not even my maternity clothes.  My boss in a social email jokingly called me a fat lady and said he thought I was going to hatch my kid real soon.  Note: I’ve known my boss for years and to be called the fat lady, oddly, doesn’t bother me.  I think he’d beat anyone who hurt my feelings.

This morning on facebook I posted, “I feel like a leper.”  It was off the cuff, but true.  I feel uncoordinated.  I fart randomly and at this point, I don’t care much about it.  In the beginning it was funny, I’d walk down the aisle at Target and giggle like a 6th grader and Michael would say, “what’s so funny?”  I’d cover my mouth, laugh and half whisper, “I farted.”  He thought it was funny the first three times, after that he was like, “uh..thanks for sharing.”  In other words, I really couldn’t care less miss farts a lot.

I feel vulnerable being pregnant.  I thought I was slow earlier in the pregnancy, I was delusional.  I’m slow now.  I waddle rather than walk.  The only thing I can do quickly is fall asleep.  I eat slow, I get full when my head tells me I’m hungry & sometimes I’m overly emotional. The emotions get to me because they’re like a floodgate washing over me, no warning, no precident-bam, there they are.

Today after some shopping, I was loading things into the boot of the Mini and some creepy looking guy was in the parking lot and I thought, “Jesus, I’m a damn ad for robbery.” I wouldn’t be able to run off or knock the guy over.  In fact, I’d have handed him my purse and asked if I could go inside and sit down because I was tired.

On another note: Most of today I felt so unattractive that it made me feel guilty.  I mean here I am with our little fetus growing and all I could think about is how annoyed I was that my pants are tight, my shirts are riding up & my bras don’t fit anymore. It feels like it happened over night. And I look at all the non-pregnant women in their cute fall gear and I comb the maternity section and think, “that would be so comfortable, but then I’d look like I draped a curtain over myself.” I think the people who design maternity clothes are 30 year old men who have never been around a pregnant woman and think sea foam green is the new it color.

Today at Target some guy almost ran me over with his two kids, after almost getting creamed by the 5 year old, he said, “whoa! sorry.”  I didn’t say anything, I stood there thinking the aisle wasn’t wide enough and my middle finger wasn’t big enough.

And lately I’ve felt lonely.  It’s a strange loneliness.  I miss my family and my friends.  I miss having women around.   I want someone around to say, “hey, it’s totally going to be fine.”  Michael does all the time, but part of me wants to get all preying mantis on him and blame him for this.  Blame him for being a man and not having to sacrifice anything physiological for this pregnancy except some sperm to make this kid.  But, I know that’s not reasonable.  It was the luck of the draw.  It’s illogical to blame him.

I wished my grandmother lived closer.  I wished my mother had more time/money. 

 I’m sure at some point all pregnant women feel like giant, slow, hungry emotional blimps.  I’m ready for that part to go away so I can go back to my regularly scheduled activities.

Reading over the last post, I think, wow, a few days ago I was totally fine.  But, that’s the closest I can come to describing pregnancy, one minute everything is fine, the next minute you want to take off your shoes because your feet are swollen and you want to eat a whole box of cheese nips.

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