On Being Knocked Up…

I often joke that I am a “Fun-Size” human.  If I try really hard and don’t slouch, I measure up at about 5’1.5″  Yes, that extra 1/2 inch matters.  To complicate matters, I am also incredibly short-waisted, with long, flailing, gangly arms and legs — which is great when buying jeans, but less than great when wanting to buy a dress, have a torso, or grow a human.

So, you can imagine how freaking crazy I look while pregnant.  I try to be as accommodating as possible for my new body roommate, but frankly there’s just not a lot of shelf space.  It’s kind of like when you and your special friend first moved in together, except instead of being in your 20s with only a box of cds and a cat to incorporate, you’re in your 30s and suddenly have a Target’s worth of crap to cram in an already crowded little ranch house.

As this is my third baby, I am used to it. I’m used to people laughing when I tell them my due date, or worse, crying and running in fear.  And the jokes.  Ahh, the jokes of the well-meaning people.  You know what’s *not* funny? Asking me “how many are in there?”. Because I’ve heard it a million times and will inevitably be a tad cranky and tell you something like “8, but we’re only going to keep the cutest one.”

This time, in addition to the usual physical reorganization, it appears that I am also rocking a little too much amniotic fluid. Which would explain why I’m even bigger than usual and can’t walk up stairs without damn near passing out. Most likely, it’s due to gestational diabetes. I had it with Luli. My doctor told me that people with immune system issues (I have AOSD) seem to be more prone to gestational diabetes. Or, as I always call it in my best Wilford Brimley voice, The Diuuhbeeeedus.

My problem is that I tend to already eat an appropriate diet, so it’s difficult for me to control things without taking insulin. I managed to avoid insulin last time, but I was living on beans, south beach bars, bell peppers, and eggs. I actually lost weight in my last trimester. So,…yeah.

I forgot where I was going with this.  Suffice it to say, I would like an oxygen tank.

Also, trying to keep zen about shit is a priority right now.  It’s funny, but when I’m really short of breath, I start to freak out because I can’t breathe, which isn’t cool at all. And then I get the Panic because I can’t get shit done.  I’m getting better at not freaking out because I can’t get down from the counter, or finish a phone call with a crazy ass client, or climb into the attic to get the twin bed down.  And, of course, there are the ever-present gaggle of worries about money, sanity, raising my kids to be good humans, and why won’t X do/stop doing Y.  But in the universal scope, things are good. I like my kids. I like my husband. We’ve got food to eat and a home and one of us has a job.

I think I just need to relax. Oh yeah, and eat my oatmeal.

Eat It!





Filed under Babies: Making and Raising, Getting to Know Me

6 responses to “On Being Knocked Up…

  1. rob4drok

    >It’s kind of like when you and your special friend first moved in together, except instead of being in your 20s with only a box of cds and a cat to incorporate, you’re in your 30s and suddenly have a Target’s worth of crap to cram in an already crowded little ranch house.<

    I resemble that remark!

  2. Celeste

    I’m short wasted too and suffer from “boy bod” (my waist doesn’t even pretend to curve inward). So, I can relate. During the third trimester of each pregnancy, it felt like a tiny foot was lodged between the bottom two ribs on my right side. I don’t think I slept more than ten minutes at a time the entire 3rd trimester of my 3rd pregnancy.

    It’ll be over soon enough though. I will be thinking of you and hoping, hoping, hoping you do NOT get gestational diabetes and have to take insulin shots. Hide my posts and stay away from any of my movie recommendations until after your son is born. Otherwise the whole zen thing is out the window.

    I bet you are super cute, no matter what your own eyes are telling you. Truly, there are few things cuter, or more beautiful, than a pregnant woman. Especially one as radiant as you. *Hug*

  3. I also had the terrible panic of not being able to breathe in my last trimester of my last pregnancy. It kept me from sleeping – like, AT ALL – and I nearly requested an elective C section at 34 weeks. Something tells me my midwives would not have been cool with that.

    So, I’m feeling your pain, and hoping your last bit goes swiftly!

  4. musicmom1956

    Ah children- they suck the life right out of you! I can not wait for grandkids. As they say “paybacks are hell” 🙂

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