Once upon a time, literally right now,
Gatesy always works round the clock
Merger’s been a bitch
He’s down on his luck
It’s tough, so tough
Rosie works the clinic all day
Workin’ for her man (and crustacean)
She brings home her pay
For love, for love
She says we’ve gotta hold on to what we’ve got
It doesn’t make a difference if we make it or not (…well, yes it does)
We’ve got each other and that’s a lot
For love, we’ll give it a shot! (but not with a gun, we’re for stricter gun regulation)
Oh, we’re HALFWAY there!
Whoa oh, livin’ St Clair!
Take my hand, we’ll make it I swear
Whoa oh, impregnated by Bear!
Dude we are HALFWAY through this pregnancy madness! Seriously unbelievable how fast it is going. Our 20 week ultrasound went great. Baby was squirming around like an inchworm – the poor tech had the hardest time getting good shots. It also had hiccups, it was hilarious! It already has its own agenda and will answer to no man, or camera. Way to go, baby!
Being the conditioned catastrophic thinker that I am, I had been having nightmares about the baby looking more like the sea animals I describe it as than as an actual baby, so seeing it up on the big screen again gave me major reassurance that we are not, in fact, growing a crop of squids in there. Doc said all is looking well on the medical side of things, and the little baba is weighing in at about 11 oz – right at the 50th percentile for its underwater age. They were also able to spot the piddlybits that prove if this is a gentleman or lady starfish, and we covered our eyes when directed so we are still in the dark on that issue. Much like the transphobic must feel when they find themselves mid-pee and someone comes in and uses the stall next to them at Target.
One thing I do know for sure is women LOVE to have friends, family, and even strangers make comments about their bodies. Especially when they are pregnant and their bodies are literally out of their control. In case you find yourself face to face with a pregnant woman in the wild and are unsure of what to say to her about her body, but yet you feel an overwhelming compulsion to say SOMETHING – feel free to borrow some of these comments I’ve collected so far to get you started:
- OMG you’re HOW FAR ALONG?! You literally can’t even tell you are pregnant. Are you sure you are pregnant? Like for sure for sure?
- Oh yea, you are definitely looking chubby.
- HOLY SHIT your BOOBS are like ENORMOUS! Like OUT OF CONTROL ENORMOUS!
- Oh wow, my *cousin/sister/best friend/co-worker/whoever* is also that far along and you’re showing WAY more than she is. And this is her 5th kid!
- You’re not pregnant, you just swallowed a huge burrito!
- OMG YOU’RE LITERALLY GLOWING!
Go ahead and try these out. Let me know how it goes. Or better yet, never, under any circumstance, ever, literally ever – say anything about a woman’s body. Except that stuff about us glowing. We love that. Thank you Jergens!
All that being said, I’m being such a brat to Gates. I basically trick him into agreeing with me that my parasitic bump is really starting to pop out loud and proud, and then once he agrees I instantly morph from a maternal Madonna, lovingly stroking my belly to a sour faced demon with horns and a tail accosting him angrily shouting things such as, “OH so you think I’m obese?!” and “So you don’t find me attractive anymore because of my GIANT GIRTH?!” and even “You literally can’t stand the sight of me and think I’m disgusting”. I almost want to whisper to him, “Sir, this is a trap” when I feel the demon inside of me starting to itch and burn for battle so that he can run far, far away from me. I legit don’t know how he puts up with me.
Speaking of demons, the creature inside of me is alive and kicking, literally. The tap, tap, tapping I felt around 18 weeks but couldn’t say for sure wasn’t just Pamplemousse gas blossomed into a full blown punching/galloping situation around 19 weeks and hasn’t slowed down since. There is something super bizarre/comforting/awesome about feeling the literal miracle of life bopping around in your innards. Sir or madam Gates seems to be the most frolic-y after a good old fashioned sugar bomb snack, (or my current liquid of choice – root beer!) but really I can feel him/her/it taking my uterus by storm at all hours of the day. Gates was able to feel a little roundhouse for himself around 20 weeks, and that was probably my favorite moment of all the pregnancy fun we’ve had thus far.
Is nesting the thing where all of a sudden you wake up and realize you live your life in a disgusting state of slop that is not in the slightest a proper environment in which to raise a tiny human? If so, I have that. I haven’t quite had the urge to act on these pretty serious concerns about our unsafe/unfit living conditions, but I’ve definitely had those thoughts pop into my usually scrambled-egg brain with intense clarity. I’m hoping that I catch a nasty case of whatever causes the type of nesting where you actually do stuff and that my body will sort of just like go into autopilot mode and whirl through the house moving knives away from the edge of the counters and putting delicious looking dishwasher detergent pods somewhere that grubby little paws can’t easily have a little snick-snack of. Kind of like getting a little tipsy and cleaning the house, and passing out and waking up with cotton mouth a few hours later and looking around in amazement and wondering if little gnomes and woodland creatures came and cleaned whilst you slumbered. When in reality…
One last little thing that has been cracking me up. Whenever anyone asks about the due date and I tell them, their eyes inevitably light up and they will exclaim, “OMG my/my best friend’s/mom’s/uncle’s/kid’s birthday is _____ (some day kind of close to the due date)!!!” and be SO FREAKING EXCITED. Every time I am tempted to be like, OMG sweet, please write down your best friend’s/mom’s/uncle’s/kid’s information for me and if the baby is born on that day I will call them and let them know so they can start planning a joint party! Lol I’m mean.
Oh, we’re HALFWAY there!
Whoa oh, getting chubs and it’s not fair!
Take my hand, we’ll make it I swear
Whoa oh, running out of clothes to wear!
the year with no beer 