Life is still on truckin’ over here. I don’t want to really say a lot more about this right at the moment, other than to say that Red, Matt and I have all agreed that this is how we are currently handling things at the moment:
(Original source for the comic is here.)
So rather than dwell on things I can’t change and have no control over, here are a few random little pregnancy vignettes. Stories that are worth telling but not really long enough to stand on their own.
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So I almost wet myself on the way to therapy the other day. Emphasis on almost. I managed to make it to the office’s bathroom without having an accident but it was the first time I can remember being genuinely concerned that I would not make it to a toilet in time.
Like most people, I’m going to blame the internet for this one. I had been enjoying my leisurely morning before heading out when I noticed that my heart seemed to be beating really, really fast. Like, scary fast. Like, you would need a very fancy tricked out European race car to match the pace of my heart in mph.
I ran a quick Google search on “fast resting heartbeat pregnant” and scrolled through the results. The consensus, like all medical questions on the internet, seemed to either be, “Oh you’re fine, you big baby,” or, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING ON THE INTERNET WHEN YOU’RE ABOUT TO DIE?!?!?!!1!!”
Sifting through these opinions was like trying to find gold in a river of paranoid sand but I managed to find some legit-ish information that said, “Well, you’re probably either anemic or dehydrated.” Since my blood work for the glucose test had also included an anemia screening (which I had passed with flying colors. Woo! No additional iron supplements for me!) I decided to try drinking a shit ton of water and waiting a little bit before calling my doctor.
Fortunately, two water bottles later my heart rate had dropped down to a much more reasonable number (you get one point in your favor for this, internet!). Noticing I was late, I grabbed my things and hurriedly left the house for my appointment.
It’s about a 20-30 minute drive depending on traffic and I was maybe 7 minutes from home when I realized just how badly I needed to pee. My body was all, “Hey, don’t want to worry you or anything but we are so full in here that if you don’t find a bathroom we will make wherever you are into a bathroom, if you catch my drift.”
I was too late to pull over or turn around to run home. Optimism ever being the opiate of the fools I decided to push on, thinking I could totally make it to the office in time before I completely lost all dignity.
There’s nothing quite like trying to get somewhere in a hurry without actually speeding. I really didn’t want to speed for two fairly obvious reasons: 1) I didn’t want to endanger my or anyone else’s lives by driving like a total idiot just because I needed to pee. 2) I have the worst luck in the world and I knew that if I sped I would get pulled over by a cop who would ask me what all the rush is and I would tell him I needed to pee and he wouldn’t believe me and I would be so far gone I’d end up accidentally peeing all over myself and he would either feel so guilty he’d let me go or he’d be so disgusted I’d be ticketed anyway.
By the time I reached the therapy office I was at that point where you have to pee so badly you almost feel like barfing but I managed to skitter my way inside, sign in and fast-waddle to the bathroom. (Yes I have officially started doing the pregnancy waddle. It gets worse with each passing week.) I officially never want to be that hard pressed to find a toilet EVER AGAIN.
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I managed to prove the old adage of, “You will never look exactly as pregnant as people think you should look. Be prepared for a lot of comments about how huge or tiny you are for how far along you are.”
I had sent my family the pictures of my baby bump that I shared on here and my brother sent me a text saying he was certain I was going to have a 15 lb baby because I “looked so outrageously huge” and I was just approaching the third trimester. I know little brothers are supposed to be annoying, by law, but it was still a pretty rude thing to hear. He was just lucky he said it in a text and not in person or he would have the honor of saying he got beat up by a pregnant woman.
But apparently I don’t look too huge because at that first knitting group meeting I got to experience the other end of the judgment spectrum. When someone asked what I was making and I showed them the baby-poncho-in-progress they asked how old the kid was. I put my hands on my belly and said, “Well, they’re still in utero.”
All the ladies were congratulatory and asked how far along I was and when I told them one of them said, “No offense or anything hon, but I never would have guessed because you are the skinniest pregnant woman I have ever seen!” The conversation at the table then briefly dipped into the foray of how I needed to eat more and not be so concerned about being too fat (I like how that was automatically assumed about my character; I must be one of those women who are more concerned with vanity than being healthy. It’s the only logical explanation!) and how it was very important for the baby for the mom to put on some weight and I just sort of sat there and took it until the conversation shifted.
I honestly didn’t know how to respond. I didn’t want to tell these women I had just met about how it had been so hard for me to gain any weight whatsoever at the beginning of this pregnancy and how much that had worried me and how I had only now started to feel better about my current weight gain. I didn’t want to outline the various nutritionist meetings and the calorie counting (to make sure I was eating enough) and the weigh ins and the sighs of worry from my doctor. I know they only meant the best but it was still so frustrating how presumptuous the whole thing is.
I know I am far from the first (or best) to write about the subject of being judgmental towards a pregnant woman’s shape. The truth is you have no idea what is going on with that woman’s life and no one outside of her own personal health care providers is in any position to tell her what shape or size her body “should” be in.
I think it’s funny that I can look “outrageously huge” to some people and still be the “skinniest pregnant woman.” I don’t know how I’m going to handle well intentioned but totally inappropriate comments from strangers in the future.
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THE SCENE:
We open on a typical, small apartment bathroom late in the evening. KATIE enters the bathroom, ready to brush her teeth before bed.
She quickly picks up her TOOTHBRUSH with her left hand and reaches over with her right hand and grabs HAIR STYLING PRODUCT.
Balancing the HAIR STYLING PRODUCT on its side, KATIE opens the container and begins to try to shake out its contents onto her TOOTHBRUSH. Suddenly, she stops. Something about the situation feels off somehow.
KATIE: “Hey, wait a minute…”
KATIE stares at both her TOOTHBRUSH and the HAIR STYLING PRODUCT for some time. Her head swivels back and forth between the two objects as if she were watching a tennis match. After an embarrassingly long amount of time she puts the HAIR STYLING PRODUCT down.
KATIE: “Well that was almost a disaster.”
KATIE then accidentally drops her toothbrush into the bathroom garbage can where it remains.
FIN.
Stubborn Nonsense 