Skip to content

I can no longer see my toes

April 4, 2006

I’m still waiting for my mom to e-mail me the pictures that she took of me while she was here so that I can share them with you guys. For the most part, I still feel pretty good. Upon getting on the scale the other morning and realizing that I had to bend forward to see the reading, I didn’t even freak out. Maybe it’s because I still have a few pair of “normal people” pants and shirts that still fit comfortably. The cravings have yet to really hit, aside from the sudden urge to have a Butterfinger Blizzard from Dairy Queen just by driving past.

The only really bothersome thing about being pregnant is that it’s getting really hard to sleep. I used to be a stomach/side sleeper, but now I can only sleep on the side. The left preferably, according to the books, although I’m still not sure why the left and not the right. Either way, I generally wake up in the morning on my back with various pillows elevating my appendages, shoulders, and sometimes even hips. I’m not sure at what point all of the pillow placing commences, but I’m sure it’s after the popcorn popper in my belly stops popping. Seriously, that’s what I get every time I lay down, and that’s what it feels like: a bag of microwave popcorn going off in my stomach. It’s kind of weird and cool all at the same time.

I’m starting to get anxious as well. I can’t wait to see my little girl and yet I worry about doing things right all at the same time. I wonder what she’s going to look like, what her voice will sound like, and how well we’ll bond. We did make a deal the other morning though. Or rather, I gave her my motherly expectations of a birth weight of between six and seven pounds. No more, no less. The more I think about what has to happen in eleven weeks, the more I question my abilities to survive labor. It’s not so much the being pregnant or being a mother that scares me, it’s just the transition from one to the other that makes me wish I could pull an I Dream of Jeannie and blink her out when the time comes. Alas, no mother has been able to escape that fact, so why should I be any different?

Advertisements

Comments are closed.

%d bloggers like this: