The Art of Being Huge

As I enter my third trimester, I am very aware of my size.   My large size.   My very large size.   I’m so big right now that moons should be orbiting me.   I’m finding though that there are lots of things that are fun about being so big.   People actually give up their seats for me on the bus now.   I can eat whatever I want in public because whose going to judge a pregnant lady?   I can knock things over with my belly if I stand too close.   I can balance a bowl of food on my stomach.   All fun things.

But I’m finding some problems with my colossal size, too.   Take yesterda morning, for example.   I pulled into my parking lot only to find my shuttle that takes me from the lot to my office starting to pull away.   So, I fly into a parking spot and throw open my car door, waving my arms like a mad woman.   I catch the bus driver’s attention, and now the entire bus is staring at me, waiting.   But as I start to climb out of my car, I realize that I have parked in a spot that is too tight.   Normally, I could just squeeze between the cars.   But with my watermelon belly, there’s not much squeezing action going on.   I was literally stuck in my car.   I couldn’t get out.   So with the entire bus watching, I had to back my car out of the parking spot and realign my parking so that I could open my door and get my belly out of the car.   Really.   Embarrassing.

There’s also the issue of breathing.   In short, its not going well.   Any sudden movements and I practically need oxygen.   And climbing stairs?   Well, that ain’t so pretty either.   I can make it to the top, but I practically pass out and/or hyperventalate once I’m up there.   And then I’m like a cat in a tree.   I don’t want to go back down again.   All that effort to get to the top and now I’m supposed to turn around and come back down again?   No thank you.   It takes lots of planning for me to climb stairs.   The worst is that my laundry room is in my basement and my closets are upstairs.   That’s two flights of stairs to climb while carrying a basket of laundry.   It makes me cry.   I just sit on the bottom stair in the basement crying because I can’t get upstairs.   Its pathetic.   Then Chris usually finds me and hugs me and carries my laundry upstairs for me.   And then I cry some more because I can’t even carry a laundry basket or climb two flights of stairs.   Its very draining, all this emotion and stair climbing.

But the problem that I’m working the hardest to overcome is my bed.   Ahhh…my bed.   How I love it.   Nothing feels better at the end of a day of walking and stair climbing when you’re pregnant than collapsing into a fluffy bed.   And I do not use the term collapsing here loosely.   The best way for me to get into bed is to back up to it and then just kind of fall backwards.   Then,   because I’m too big to scoot myself into a comfortable position in one fell swoop, I have to roll myself from side to side in order to work my body into a better position.   Did you ever see a turtle try to flip himself back over?   That’s sort of the same manuever.   Once I have finally gotten into a comfortable position, its time to arrange my pillows.   Oh, the pillows.   I have to flop myself over onto my side, which is no small feat.   One pillow is then shoved between my legs, and this is complicated by the fact that I can’t really bend all that well to place the pillow.   So I have to shove the pillow under the covers and then start flailing my legs around until they have positioned the pillow for me.   Next, I shove this wonderful wedge pillow under my belly.   It keeps me from rolling over on to my stomach and helps level me out.   I love it and I love my mother-in-law who gave it to me!   Once I have pushed the wedge pillow up under my belly, I can finally relax.

And then I have to pee.

And then I say some foul language, kick my strategically placed pillows out of my way, roll myself back and forth (turtle style) until I’m sitting upright, and then slide off the side of the bed.   Its not easy.   And the whole time the Bean is kicking me like crazy and I can almost hear him laughing in there at all this hullabaloo that he has caused.

Yeah, being huge is not easy.   Its not for the faint of heart.   It requires dedication, planning, and, above all, oxygen.   And sometimes it requires a husband who will bring you ice cream in bed as a reward for just making it there.