I’m 6 and a half months pregnant. I eat a normal-sized meal and end up feeling like a tick that attached itself to an artery. I have the coordination of a drunk hippo and a butt that seems to be expanding to about the same size. I get to have sexy, profound conversations with my husband like,
Me: “Does this look like a stretch mark to you?”
Clayton: “That purple mark?”
Me: “Yeah, the one that looks like a stretch mark. THAT mark.”
Clayton: “Actually looks a little more like Nanny Smurf.”
Me: “Don’t you mean Smurfette?”
Clayton: “No, Nanny Smurf. She came later in the series.”
Me: “Yeah, but she doesn’t count. We knew practically NOTHING about her character. There’s a fair amount of speculation over whether or not she was even a natural-born Smurf.”
Clayton: “Natural-born? What else would she be? A Smurf immigrant that happens to look just like the rest of them? And what kind of forum is conducting this ‘speculation’?”
Me: “My point is she’s practically an unknown.”
Clayton: “But she still counts.”
Clayton: “But barely still counts.”
Me: “So….that’s a yes on the stretch mark?”
Clayton: “Brownie points if I say a bear in a tutu..?”
Don’t you wish this were your life? What makes all of this funny is that I did it to myself, and have nobody to blame other than Clayton. Who I regularly blame for just about everything I don’t wish to take responsibility for. (And that list grows to “epic” proportions daily.) And incidentally, Nanny Smurf is entirely why I heart that man.
My point is, that pregnancy brings about a number of changes. Duh. But it also brings about a ton of questions, too. Here are a list of the questions that have come up for me (and some of which have been answered) in the course of this pregnancy:
- How exactly does the dr. have to tie off the umbilical cord to make an innie and not an outie? B/c that’s what we’d like to order.
- What is the specific chemical interaction that causes pregnancy hormones to make donuts taste better?
- Would it be possible for the dr. to remove the umbilical cord from the placenta and reattach it to me somehow (like, I dunno, roll it up by hand like a fruit rollup and clothespin it back in) somewhere safe? If nature’s given me a natural leash, I don’t see the need to waste it. I figure it’ll save me the trouble of registering for a toddler bungee leash for the baby shower.
- Why didn’t God decide to let babies develop on womens’ backs instead of our stomachs? I’ve carried a backpack for 19 yrs. of school. I’ve got THAT balancing act down pretty well already–this front-of-the-stomach thing, though? Faceplant waiting to happen…again.
- When you’re pregant you forget things, become ridiculously scatterbrained, forget how to complete a sentence… So which pregnancy hormone is it that’s causing my brain to shrink?
- Is pregnancy gas biologically related to the Zyklon B they used in the Nazi gas chambers? Because I’m pretty sure I gassed a stink bug to death by accident yesterday afternoon.
These questions plague me. That’s all I’ve gotten so far. I’m sure more will crop up.
Additionally, I had a crazy dream a few nights ago, where I dreamed that I had given birth to a baby boy named Victor. And, at the time the dream took place, we’d been enjoying taking care of the new baby for a few months without noticing anything was wrong. But while I was changing his diaper (yeah, I apparently dream about diaper changing in a non-nightmare scenario….how effed up is that?), I turned to Clayton and was like, “Wait a minute….weren’t we supposed to have a baby girl?” And Clayton was all like, “Uh…what now?” And I was like, “Yeah. Yeah, I think we were. I thought that science was fairly accurate. So how did we end up with a boy when the doctors kept saying it was a girl? And where did the name ‘Victor’ come from? That wasn’t even on the list of Boy Names we picked out.” And Clayton was like, “I don’t know, but I’m certainly not going to rock the boat about it. This is the kid you gave birth to, and I’m not returning it now just because you have buyer’s remorse!” And then I had to explain to him that “Silly boy, of course I don’t want to return the kid–he works just fine. It’s just that I didn’t know how the doctors could’ve screwed up a penis on the ultrasound. And how the heck did this kid get born with a name that we didn’t give him?” And Clayton was like, “I have no clue about the name, but I kind of like it. Victor. Sounds mighty.” And I was all, ” ‘It sounds mighty’…? Our kid has a name that we didn’t give him! And he’s the wrong gender. VICTOR WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A GIRL!” I spent the rest of the dream preparing legal action against the doctors, since they not only got the gender wrong, but they also gave me a baby that had named itself. All. Their. Fault.
This dream was very strange to me because I happen to hold the opinion that all instigators of frivolous, stupid lawsuits should be summarily shot in the ankle for wasting time. You ordered hot coffee, lady–DON’T GET PISSED AT THE FAST FOOD COMPANY WHEN YOU SPILL ON YOURSELF AND IT BURNS YOU.
So yeah, this is what they don’t tell you about pregnancy: it is the weirdest haunted house you will ever walk through, people. And I use the haunted house analogy becuase even as you’re going through, occasionally peeing yourself because some psycho jumps out from the shadows and swings a chainsaw at your head, you still find yourself happy that you paid the $10 and admiring the level of detail on the floating skulls in that fat witch’s cauldron. JUST like that.