I’ve always been a fan of routine. My weekly routine of grocery shopping, the yearly routine of traveling south for the holidays and visiting each of our families on the designated days, even the old, stale routine I repeat every weekday morning when I get to the office: coffee, breakfast, emails and RSS check.
Followed by eight hours of intermittent weeping and soul-crushing despair!
The past three weeks or so have been remarkably routine, since each week has been anchored by a weekend of performances for me, meaning I can’t really go anywhere or do anything that will run into the evenings. This translates into a pretty solid routine of work-work-work, Friday night show, Saturday relaxation, Saturday night show, and Sunday errands, before the work-work-work begins yet again on Monday morning.
Little known fact: most worker bees spend 75% of their day on Facebook.
One of the serious downsides of routine is that it numbs your ability to detect change. We’ve all been afraid of becoming the poor slob who takes a stable office job after college as a way to make ends meet, only to wake up from his routine 35 years later with the realization that he’s frittered away his entire life behind fabric cubicle walls and is merely a shlumpier, balding shadow of his younger self.
Happy Monday, everyone!
Thankfully I haven’t gotten so immersed in my routine that my entire life has slipped by, but I have been distracted enough to kind of periodically forget that 1) Hey, I’m pregnant! and to more often forget that 2) I KEEP GETTING PREGNANT-ER.
The costume I wear in the show is pretty forgiving – the top is stretchy, and the little shorts I wear sit low on my hips and are held up mostly by a red plastic belt. Also, I never really sit down during the show, so my shorts never have to experience the strain that my regular pants see on a daily basis.
Nooooobody knows the trouble I’ve seeeeeen…
So it wasn’t until my much-more-pregnant friend in the cast requested a few pictures with me for posterity that I got a glimpse of HOLY MOTHER OF ASS, I’M HUGE.
I looked kind of like this, but with a much nicer rack.
Now before you think I’m being all body-hate on myself, let me reassure you that my shock at the photos were not of the “OMG, I’m so faaaaaaaaat” kind, but completely of the “Who the fuck is that pregnant woman in my clothes?” kind. Because it seems that this past month has kind of escaped my notice in that tricky second trimester way. Since all of my days aren’t drawn out by torturous nausea and fatigue, I feel pretty normal. So normal, in fact, that I tend to forget things like the fact that I am FIVE MONTHS PREGNANT today (wha? huh?) and that my…situation is becoming more noticeable than I think.
What?! I’m just bloated.
But this weekend, my increasing physical real estate was kind of hard to ignore. First, there was the cold, hard, photo evidence. Next, I totally misjudged my girth and opened the closet door into my belly. After that, I knelt down to pet the cat (who, of course, then promptly ran away), and I had to have Brad help me up. And then this morning, I tried to hoist myself up out of bed and discovered that someone had placed a ten-pound free weight in the vicinity of my stomach.
The physical changes, though, are really the fun part. I have a pregnant belly! People smile and comment and ask about my due date! Sure, I look a lot different than I ever have, but it’s gradual. And totally expected. And doesn’t really interfere with my life as I’ve always known it. Up to this point, things have been pretty subtle.
But do you know what happens with all the subtlety of a meteoric impact?
Brought to you by the letter OW.
Last week we saw a play that involved a pregnant woman going into labor. It was a comedy, so it was all very funny and exaggerated, but still. The ten continuous minutes of hearing this woman scream and watching her reddened face contort in pain? Made a turkey think. Then I stumbled across a few real-life birth stories on the Internet, and also had conversations with Very Pregnant Cast-Mate and Very Pregnant Sister (both of whom are due on the same rapidly approaching date!). So the end game of pregnancy started to really hit me this weekend. I’m going to have to give birth, Internet. Like, whether I want to or not.
They’re coming for you, Barbara.
I’ve had this heart-stopping realization several times so far, and my Very Pregnant Cast-Mate – who is mere days from giving birth! – said that she saw an infant in a restaurant over the weekend and nearly passed out when she realized that she would have one of those in a few weeks time, so I guess it’s just one of those things that keeps dawning on you throughout pregnancy. Not to mention that each time I’m in the waiting room for my monthly prenatal appointment, I nearly pass out with anticipation and nerves, and those appointments usually contain nothing more than peeing in a cup and having my blood pressure taken. So I tend to freak out a smidge when I think about how soon I’ll be sitting there, waiting for The Big Show. But there’s really nothing to do about it until it happens. Except some Kegels. And making sure the baby has her daily recommended intake of frosting.
I had to make cupcakes last night for a fundraiser at work…and DEAR GOD I’ll be surprised if any of them actually make it out of my house. NOM NOM NOM.
But then there are the moments when Brad & I can’t WAIT to meet this baby, to see what she looks like and who she turns out to be. At those moments, waiting until April seems downright torturous…but then I remember that the only baby supplies in our entire house are a few onesies, some Steelers socks, and a box of Cheerios, and I say to my belly in the firmest tone possible, “You stay PUT, young lady.”
In other news, I think I’ve been feeling the baby move. I feel horribly behind on this milestone, since so many other mothers (first timers, even!) report feeling movement way back at week 16 or so, but with me and my very rumbly digestive system, it’s hard to tell the difference between adorable baby flutters and a bean and cheese quesadilla.
Just as adorable to a pregnant woman, really.
The little darling also seems to have descended upon my bladder – something that becomes incredibly obvious to me when I’m standing, but barely noticeable when I’m sitting down. This means that for the entire length of my show (during which I never sit or have time for a bathroom break) I am quite convinced I will pee onstage, but as soon as I sit down afterwards – POOF! No urge. This is also fun whenever I’m at the grocery store by myself and don’t want to abandon my cart full of rapidly-warming meat and dairy products to relieve my bladder of 4 tablespoons of pee.
I’m sorry this has turned into another “I can’t believe I’m pregnant, this is weeeeeird, man” post, but…I can’t believe I’m pregnant, and this is weird, man.
Pregnancy: just add black light!
Entry filed under: And you KNOW THIS!.