Tuesday, February 10, 2009

This Part Should Be Called Labor As Well

My Mother got pregnant with me when she was 21 and from the way she talks about it she was so physically capable at that age to bear children she may as well have been a trapeze artist.  She frequently made mention to me that the five year difference between my brother and I had a huge impact on her body physically.  When I became pregnant with Ellie I was the same age that she was when she became pregnant with my brother.  And I thought that was hard.  I attributed all my physical woes to the copious amounts of lard I packed onto my body.  And to be truthful, outside of the chest clutching heartburn and hangover like morning sickness of the first few months, this time has been much easier on my body.  Until now.

Last night my Husband took up residence on the couch and I fear that this may become a permanent move until the birth of the baby.  He graciously informed me that the constant heaving of my expanding body from one side to the other and endless trips to the bathroom were disturbing his sleep.  Well.  I haven't slept a full night through in I can't even remember how long.  I'm contemplating asking for a catheter and some Ambien for Valentine's day just so I don't have to see the bride of Frankenstein every time I look in the mirror.

It feels as though this baby is giving me arthritis and no amount of yoga or exercise is lessening the aches I feel that only worsen as the day progresses.  I forgot to bring the baby monitor from the basement to our bedroom ( FIVE FLIGHTS OF STAIRS UP) last night and when I mentioned it to Jeremy who was already in bed with a pillow over his head he said, UGHHHHH can't you go get it.  I informed him that, no, I couldn't because it felt like carrying a watermelon between my legs down the stairs.  And not only that but on the way back up I had to clutch my back and  grimace through the sciatica that shot pain up my pelvis and down my legs.  So, no, if the kid woke up, we would just have to hear her through the wall.  And then I peed for what was probably the fifty seventh time that day.  At least that time I made it to the toilet.  

This child is sitting so much lower in my body that nearly every move she makes affects my bladder.  I estimate it's size to be about that of a large marble and from the way it feels this child is going to be a boxer and she's practicing on my bladder.  She's like one of those people that inspect a house's fortitude by roughing it up a bit (Dwight Schrute).  Sometimes it hurts so much that I think I'm going into early labor.  And then I realize that, nope, she was just practicing Tae Kwan Do on the floor of my uterus.   This shirt from cafe press nicely describes some of what I feel on a daily basis.


At least I'm in the home stretch.  I can see the finish line from here.  Now all I have to do is wait.  Wait and beg a massage from anyone who comes within arm's reach of me.  Yeah, even that drunk homeless guy.

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