26 Weeks. She’s the size of a small pineapple, and the length of an English hothouse cucumber. (Say what?) She has eyelashes and fingerprints now and is using her lungs.
I was lounging on the couch last night and running my hands over my belly, when Little Lamb did a couple summersaults and made my whole gut move, and distort and shake like something out of Alien. “Whoa!” I laughed. DH wasn’t home, so once again, he missed it. We’ve determined that his hand has a calming touch on her, because as soon as he rests his plams on my stomach, she stills. Not a bad skill to have, me thinks. Hope it works when she’s out as well.
180. I’ve gained 22 pounds and am 5 pounds over my Heaviest Weight Ever. I feel it when I walk across hardwood floors: Boom! Boom! Boom! I have two weeks left to go before I enter the third trimester. Because I began this journey overweight, I’m only supposed to gain 15-25 pounds total. Oops. And now I’m about to enter the period where you gain a pound a week. Oh, shit. I’m going to be huge. Jessica Simpson huge. I’ll admit, I don’t exercise enough. With this new pubic pain when I walk, it’s hard to think of doing anything that’s beyond stretching. But I do need to pick it up a little. I know that labor is hard work and my cardiovascular shape right now is equivalent of an 80-year-old.
And I’m not going to lie, I love to eat. Since I can’t drink, I’ve been letting myself eat ice cream, and chips, and cookies and burritos. And since I’ve been a chronic dieter, it feels so good to just say ‘fuck it’ and enjoy food again. Oh, there are cupcakes in the conference room? I’m getting one! Do we have cheese? I’m putting it on my burrito! I’m eating a salad for lunch, so I’m going to eat potato chips as my reward! I know, I know… I’m feeding my baby crap. This is an area where I’ll need major help from DH. He’s much better at the healthy diet thing than I am, and after the boob stage, it’ll be hard for me to learn how to buy, cook and prepare healthy food for our child. But I will learn. We’ve already got some bad genes on my side that I’ll be passing on, she’ll need all the help she can get.
Two weeks ago, I stated out loud that I was just glad that I hadn’t gotten my wattle back. I had the under-chin fat before the wedding but was able to rid most of it in time. And… it’s back. I saw it in the mirror. I should’ve kept my big mouth shut. It’s just a baby wattle at this point, but there’s no denying that it’s making an appearance again. Sigh…
I know I’m supposed to gain weight, and in the last month, there will be swelling and bloating, and I probably won’t even recognize myself. But that doesn’t make it easy to accept. I don’t like feeling dumpy and unattractive. And it sure isn’t helping our sex life. Awkward pregnancy sex – another thing no one ever talks about! It’s hard to ignore the giant thing between us, and even harder to keep the intrusive thoughts at bay: “I wonder if she can hear us.” “Sorry babe, it’s about to get pornographic here – ear muffs!” “I wonder if she feels this. Does she like the movement or is she like, ‘WTF is going on out there?’” Aaagghhh! And then everything just seems so wrong … Thank God my husband is patient and understanding and will accept my “alternative” activity ideas. (Position suggestions welcome in the comments! There’s got to be more than two, right? And please speak plainly. I don’t want to have to google the nicknames.)
Meeting with a midwife today. Hope I like her, and she’s cool, and has all the answers and makes us feel like we can have everything we want, including a place to birth outside of a hospital that isn’t my house. Fingers crossed!