25 Weeks

November 24, 2009

I had an appointment today, during which I was weighed, tested for anemia, and had an ultrasound. Apparently I did not meet my target weight, so I got a lecture for that. Then I found out I have anemia and now I have to take iron supplements. All for a good cause. I really need to step it up if I want to do everything my way when it is time to actually give birth.

I’m having my wisdom teeth out tomorrow, and my “care team” (people in charge of corralling me around in my anesthetized ┬ástate: my mother, J) has expressed concern that I may go toppling over like a tranquilized rhino at some point. Which brings me to this:

When my mother had her wisdom teeth out in the 80s, my grandmother had to drive through all the hairpin Georgia mountains with a crazy-drugged-out daughter in the passenger seat. My mom thought she could fly, and was trying really hard to get out of the vehicle to test out her wings. They ended up getting pulled over because a cop thought my grandma was driving drunk.

Since my mother swears I am just like her, she is convinced I will get out of hand during the ride home, and has purchased a harness of some sort, which she will use to keep me in the car in the event that I sprout wings and try to fly away.

Think of that tomorrow when your day is crappy. I’ll look like a hostage, trussed up in the passenger seat of a Hummer, flapping my arms like a pterodactyl, on the highway, while you are preparing for your Thanksgiving holiday. Enjoy.


24 Weeks

November 19, 2009

“In the past few weeks, the top of your uterus has risen above your belly button and is now about the size of a soccer ball.”

Oh, how I laughed. My stomach is no longer the cute “bump” mentioned in all pregnancy-related media. It looks like there is something preparing to burst through my skin like an alien parasite. Or a baby dancing the can-can.

I can’t sleep on my back anymore, and it’s hard to get out of bed. Gizmo likes to sleep with his head on my belly, and I think he was alarmed the first time he felt something MOVE in there, so he keeps moving at night trying to get away from it. Of course, baby is wide awake while I’m trying to sleep, and I imagine a baby jazz player in a night club, smoking a cigar while playing the washboard bass with his feet.

Tomorrow I have my glucose challenge test, and I have to get weighed. Ugh. I knew all those brownies were a bad idea.

23 Weeks

November 11, 2009

Turn on the radio and sway to the music. With her sense of movement well developed by now, your baby can feel you dance.”

Psh. I don’t know about any of the other 23 weeks-pregnant ladies, but I sure as hell don’t feel like dancing. I’m exhausted. It could be something to do with the dental headaches and the pain medication, or it could be the enormous weight hanging off the front of my body. I’m only five feet tall so I look kind of like a pre-teen girl carrying a a yoga ball. With boobs. Gigantic, sore, possibly alien boobs.
I have enough materal instinct to know that water will help with the weight-carrying issues. I dream of swimming pools and private bathrooms for every public facility. I need to get into the water, but I am sketchy on using a public pool, especially to wallow like a dead hippo. I’m considering buying one of those larger inflatable pools and setting it up in my basement. Then I can swim naked. …What? You think I’m going to buy a maternity bathing suit? Not on your life, honey. I look like a red zebra. With boobs. And a yoga ball.

Roll Call

November 3, 2009

I’m sad that almost no one from Xanga is coming to visit my new blog. I realize it’s inconvenient and all that, since it’s not part of the Xanga system and no one likes to venture out of it. BUT. I had no other choice. I need to explore, and Xanga doesn’t have even close to all the options I’ve found on WordPress.

If you’re reading this and you came from the X-neighborhood, please mark yourselves present in the comment section. I need confidence-bolstering affirmations of readership.

Pregnant Barbie’s Halloween

November 1, 2009

It’s a good thing Midge doesn’t depend on her sewing skills to survive, because she’d be one dead broad. Having scoured the Internet for costume ideas and coming up empty-handed, she resorted to making her own costume:


She managed to squeeze in, but will she be able to get back out?