I am amazed that no matter how much liquid I consume, the volume of my urinary output is unchanged. The old formula of what goes in must come out doesn’t ring true right about now. I think the ratio should be 20 to 1—1 cup of water equals 20 trips to the bathroom. Just when I’ve successfully waddled my way to the bathroom in time ... I stand, pull up my clothing, only to sneeze. Pregnant woman sneeze equals instant underwear change. After all of that work, I have to use the bathroom again. In the other area, things seem to slow down to tortoise-speed. I can’t STOP urinating but can only pray for such efficient plumbing of the other tube.
I can’t feel anything that far down. What is it I am intentionally trying to tighten?
For someone who once kept a tidy bikini area, this blind shaving business has been quite abrasive on my skin. Shaving by “feel” is perhaps too dangerous in some regions.
Last night I invited my husband to climb aboard the S.S. Fat A** for a sunset cruise. He declined, but I know he’ll get his sea legs soon. My legs, on the other hand, are a bit reminiscent of the Marshmallow Man from Ghostbusters. I received a shower gift—a Puff the Magic Dragon storybook. Coincidence? I think not.
I have stayed in the recommended range, which still does nothing to prepare a woman for the inevitable creeping of the numbers on the scale ... up ... and up ... and up. All the while, most of my other body parts are heading down south. Who knew I’d get to use the baby powder before the baby even came?! The weight of my boobs creates a puddle of sweat that certainly must mimic the amount of amniotic fluid that will flow when my water breaks. I think I shall call it “boob chafing.” Living here in south Louisiana, the puddle of sweat that accumulates under my boobs just might be enough for a mosquito breeding ground. West Nile is still out there, you know?
Because I am now at the end, I know that fluid is the main culprit in my weight gain. I surely have little room in my tummy to eat much food. How can I be gaining water weight when I am eliminating water at a rate that rivals Old Faithful?
I remember reading all of the pregnancy books and hoping I wouldn’t get those horrible ailments that seem to plague so many women. For the most part, I have not. That is why I really can’t complain after all. Yet when told yesterday by a co-worker that I had developed “cankles” (due to swelling), I decided enough was enough. If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. The comments are endless, random, and unsolicited. One person will comment that I am “tiny,” while another will say that there is no way my baby will fit through my birth canal. I have been sized up by little old ladies in the nail salon, each with their own theory of what I am having. The consensus is boy, but all of the credible old wives’ tale Internet quizzes have it split right down the middle. That is probably not an analogy I should be thinking of right now, though. Split … middle ... OUCH.
When all is said and done, I am bringing a life into this world. That in itself is worth whatever bodily changes may come along. It is a miracle and blessing that I am eagerly awaiting. Nothing in my life has been more exciting so far and I doubt anything else could compete with this.
So, the next time I am lying on my OB/GYN’s exam table I will just have to ignore the brochures on laser vein therapy staring me in the face (and other parts) and focus on what this is all about!