Currently I’m not quite yet six months pregnant, and appear to have swallowed a school bus. Or at least all the children contained therein. Thus far, I’ve been told I appear to be stretching the limits of the spandex of my yoga pants, and asked by more than one person if I’m sure I’m not carrying a litter, or at the least, triplets. This raises the age-old question of why people seem to leave all their tact behind when addressing pregnant women. It seems like a dangerous thing to do. At my best, I’m only moderately stable. During pregnancy, my sanity is entirely up for debate. I’m like a tossed coin, constantly in the air, and there’s really no way to judge what side I might land on. The nice, pleasant reasonable side, or the…less pleasant, reasonable side. I try not to be too touchy about my size, as I am aware that there is something rather comical about all my lumbering lumps and bumps. But still…
Another delightful aspect of the whole I-swallowed-a-busload-of-kids phenomenon is the frequent and excessive need to visit the ladies’ room – everywhere I go. I have grave concerns about my bladder. By necessity, my errands are now planned around when I will be irresistably compelled to visit the facilities, how long I can last between visits, and which places have the best (read: cleanest), most convenient bathrooms. I think things like, “I don’t really have to go yet, but there’s a nice clean bathroom right here, and if I use this one, I can go to this place next, and if I’m quick there, I can make it out and to the next place with more desirable facilities before I explode and die.” It’s very sad.
The notorious “they” says that you’re not supposed to sleep on your back while pregnant. “They” could really save their breath. Every time you get so uncomfortable sleeping on your side, because your shoulder aches, your arm is asleep, your knees hurt and hips are being crushed, that you roll onto your back (you know, accidentally, ’cause you’re asleep) the pressure of the bowling ball now resting on the 13 drops in your bladder wakes you up, forcing you to traverse the dark, cold
hell hall yet again.
Speaking of sleeping, there is another little-known fun-time trick your body pulls during this special time. Drool. What is up with all the drool? And why does nobody tell you about all this? I was seriously concerned during my first pregnancy when all of a sudden I couldn’t fall asleep without turning into a big old slobbery mess. Like all the other prenatal party tricks, it just comes on earlier and harder with each successive pregnancy. None of my research (obsessive Googling) has ever turned out any cause for this excessive drool-making. Why, you might ask, don’t you just close your mouth to hold in this river of drool? A wonderful idea, except I would suffocate due to the fact I can’t breathe through my nose, thanks to chronic pregnancy boogers. Apparently, pregnant bodies make a lot of mucous, and really don’t discriminate between mucous-making areas of the body, so…boogers. So the mouth stays open, the drool pours out, and I carry on snoring like the dead. Gorgeous.
Regarding the afore-mentioned yoga pants. I’m still carrying on teaching a few classes a week. I’m not sure if the students are just being kind, but they haven’t yet taken to outright laughing at me. I laugh at myself, but they remain politely silent. I feel certain I look like a one-person comedy routine, especially when I attempt something ridiculous, like balancing my enormous girth on my arms. Or touch my toes. Yet, I persist. And I shall as long as I can manage to drag myself to teach.
Being pregnant isn’t all bad. Sometimes people go out of their way to be nice to pregnant ladies. For example, last week when I almost fell out (that’s what we do down here) at the Full Moon because I got too hungry, they gave me a free piece of pie. Chocolate pie.