Mumbling Madly

I’ve reached the ‘end’ stage. Strangers are openly commenting on my physical state (which is so, so weird). A random adolescent girl watches me tussle with a cart at Safeway; I’m sweating with effort and she inquires, “Are you pregnant?” I’m not very nice to her. I don’t smile, I just say, “Yes.” And she says, “Well, congratulations…” I say, “Thanks.” Before her abusive mother hollers at her to ‘get over here now.’ I was such a jerk to this girl but I think I was just surprised. At the time, it felt almost as invasive as if a stranger asked, “Are you fat?” or “Is your nose a little hooked at the end?” Now, I know that people just feel excited being around an extremely pregnant woman. A gigantic man at Petco turned to Josh and I while we waited in line and said, “Congratulations.” Simple…before turning around and lumbering off to the parking lot. Today two black guys with umbrellas walked by me in Columbia City and one of them shouted, “You’re about to drop!”

It’s no wonder: I’ve reached the waddling part of pregnancy where the hips feel like their going to crack open if not careful. All ligaments are like loose rubber bands and the groin hums and sings with each step. I struggle up even the smallest of hills but continue my almost religious attention to prenatal yoga twice a week. After class a group of us huddle together and compare stats: Who is dilated, who has recently birthed, which doula someone recommends, and how impatient some of us are to get this birth over with. One by one my comrades lift off and leave Pregnancy Land to the new world, to Baby Planet. My dear friend, who had been pregnant with me since the beginning, since we were both 5 weeks along, left Pregnancy Land a whole 3 weeks early. I feel strangely betrayed…

How will your animal react to an upcoming baby? Well, in the case of my geriatric cat, Hobbes, the baby’s furniture has recently been discovered:

This also includes sleeping on a fair amount of freshly washed baby clothes that were being stored in the crib drawer:

I said good bye to my first round of little dance students yesterday. They’re all 3 with the exception of one 4 year old. We had not really discussed my pregnancy as a class before, and while I was explaining that I wouldn’t see them for a couple of months, one girl looked dismayed, “I am so sad you have a baby in your tummy.”

Post-Halloween blues combined with the time change have played havoc on most 3 year old psyches–as it has with mine. Similiar to the first trimester, I’m feeling less and less like myself. Of course, this is mostly due to my almost humorous physicality. My old self could certainly navigate around doorways without bumping her belly or soiling the front of her maternity shirt. The old self could give normal hugs and do dishes without standing sideways. A strange copper taste resonates in my mouth after eating, making food not as pleasurable as I had hoped. My lungs feel constricted and my ribs are sore. Often, I don’t answer phones because it takes too long to get up.

The old self also had no interest in watching an hour of “Birth Story” on TLC or reading countless birth stories in Ina May’s Birthing book. Lately, I consume birth stories like candy (which I eat to get rid of the copper taste). What once used to intimidate me has become a soulful addiction. If I can ingest a wide enough scope of birth examples then perhaps I can get a general IDEA of what my own labor and birth might be. I would rather go in over-read and extra knowledgeable with the hope that it might remove some of the fear. However, my doula is waiting for me to email her my birth plan…I don’t have it or know it yet. I have a list of things I’d like to avoid…but otherwise I’m trying to remain extremely flexible.