“This is going to be a big boy” the doctor says, smiling sweetly as he puts away his tape measure.
I can’t think fast enough in French to retort ‘Hey, unless you’re giving birth to this baby, keep those types of happy comments to yourself buddy’. So instead I must satisfy myself with giving him my best ‘We are not amused’ glare. This only makes him chuckle and I mentally Google Dante’s Divine Comedy and search for just the circle of hell in which he will spend eternity…
It is becoming increasingly difficult to slide behind the wheel of my car comfortably, not to mention the contortions I must go through to get back out. The real bummer is that if I scoot the seat back just one notch I can get in and out much easier, but I cannot drive because my feet can’t reach the friggin pedals. God it sucks to be short.
As I was dressing the other morning I was thinking back to my first pregnancy 20++ years ago and remember how thankful I was not to be pregnant in the height of a desert summer. Mind I gave birth at the end of May and we had probably been enduring temps well into the 90’s and higher since mid April, but still it could have been so much worse. I could have had to endure the worst of the June – August heat in my ‘big as a house’ state.
Then I found myself once again grateful for the good timing of this pregnancy. As it is I find it hard to breathe now and cannot imagine enduring heat and high humidity at 8 and nine months pregnant while carrying around an alien that insists on kicking and growing up in to my diaphragm, making breathing freely an ever increasing treat.
However, as I was mulling these thoughts over the other morning and trying various contortions to reach my feet so I could put my socks on, I was struck by this thought, that in the past few winters I have become increasingly fond of wearing tights to keep warm in the cold outdoor breezes. The visual of what contortions it would take to accomplish that feat were frightening. I’ll just be cold thanks.
Finally, I leave you with this amusing visual:
S comes home at the end of the work day to find a disturbing trail of debris strewn across the floors of the house. A pencil, an unopened piece of mail, several paper towels, assorted bits of laundry (clean and dirty) and other odd mementos of a day spent tidying up the house. As he picks up each piece of flotsam and follows the trail he eventually comes upon me sitting on the bed watching the Gilmore Girls on DVD.
He holds up the armful of items and asks in a puzzled tone ‘what happened here?’
‘Stuff I dropped during the day and couldn’t bend far enough over to pick back up’ I say shrugging.
Yuck it up folks…
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