My, the heat!

I have definitely noticed a rise in temperature recently, and it’s not just summer time, it’s me. This is how I know: I flew last weekend in a sundress only. Normally I would have a hooded sweatshirt, pants, socks and shoes, and then maybe use another shirt for extra warmth/pillow. Now, I’m not the girl on the plane who keeps ringing the flight attendant for more blankets, (those blankets are icky!) but I do usually have to close the air vents and draw my hoodie all the way closed to get remotely comfortable. Alas, the days of being able to layer are gone. I basically sweat my way through take-off and landing, hoarded all the air vents and cold drinks I could attain, and let my bare arms, legs, and feet emanate heat. The poor person sitting next to me!

Since my destination was Charleston, South Carolina, you can probably imagine how this raised body temperature treated me. Not nicely. I managed an outdoor adventure to the farmer’s market, and we spent most of an afternoon in the spa getting our nails done and gossiping with the nosy technician, and then we escaped to the beach for a day, but still, I felt like a hot dog in the ballpark steamer machine. Sitting in air conditioned restaurants is no longer a problem, but walking the dog any time between 9am and 7pm has become too much. I’m just hot and it’s all I can do to sit on the couch in my undies and write.

The Magical Disappearing Navel

Well, I guess I should have seen it coming, as now I am seeing it going…my bellybutton that is. Every once in a while I’ll catch a glimpse and see that it has become flat and smooshed, baring it’s once hidden depths to the world. Slut. I’m not at the point of “turkey’s done,” which I imagine, at this rate, will eventually occur, but the Creature is certainly putting some pressure on that belly button to make some space! The widening of said belly has stretched my once cute button into a weird, flat shape that becomes more and more just a bit of a slit every day. It's like when you push your lips together with your hands and squish them back and forth to make fishy-face (I have a vision of Julia Roberts doing this in a movie...anyone help with that?). And the way my uterus is growing, it is pushing the button up toward me at an angle great for viewing how weird it has become. Sigh. Maybe I’ll do some research on what crazy wives’ tales the belly button beholds.

It's baby-suit time!

We’re going on a tropical vacation, hallelujah! There’s nothing like a little sand between the toes, crusty salt and sunscreen on the face, and a beautiful, quiet snorkel to get me in a good mood. Hubby’s more of a “lake person,” so I don’t get to the ocean as much as I’d like; luckily his parents want to celebrate their 35^th anniversary with a family trip to the Virgin Islands which does get me to the ocean. They probably also want to check on the progression of my belly, but I suppose I can handle a few looks in exchange for some time on the beach. If only I could take advantage of the fresh local rum…

Googling “pregnancy bathing suits” doesn’t do much except encourage you to shop, but in my research I have found most opinions are to be proud of what you have and flaunt it; I guess I’ll go with that aka see if my bikinis still fit. I don’t much look pregnant from the front, other than my middle looks quite wide, like a thick stick figure, but the profile is getting pretty good. Apparently the Creature is 11 inches long now—not sure how that fits in there but I’ll take it! It would probably look good if my boobs were a little bigger, but I hate to tempt fate on that one. Just give me a butt-load of sunscreen and I’m ready!

Stretch Armstrong

Okay, back to complaining. My stomach feels like an expanding balloon, like the skin is just being pulled out. I don’t remember much about Stretch Armstrong (it looks like his biggest asset is you can pull him every which way without ripping him—fun) but the name really comes to mind. I am beginning to understand growing pains, which my poor brother had so badly in 6^th and 7^th grade he hasn’t grown since (and he’s 6’1”!). My joints are achy, I’m a bit off balance, and again, the skin, oh the skin. I’m trying to lotion the heck out of it basically anytime I pass a bottle of lotion. I suppose I could drink more water too; I’m already dehydrated simply from living at altitude (just outside the Mile High City, woopie).

I’m not sure if this sensation bodes poorly for stretch marks—like just about every other symptom those are supposed to be genetic. I can’t say I’ve seen my mum’s stomach too many times, but she seems to be lucky in most everything else so I’ll hope DNA is on my side. I’m also researching things (aka procrastinating) like Mama Bees Burts Bees Belly Butter or something alliteration-y like that. Probably I’ll buy some because it probably smells like milk and honey which is divine.

Everybody was kung-fu fighting

I said instead of complaining this time I would talk about something fun. I have chosen the topic of baby aerobics. This is because, for the past few weeks, I have been able to feel the Creature within. It’s completely weird, and I’m not always sure it’s a baby instead of gas, indigestion, hunger, or aliens—or anything else you could think of that may have reason to be in there jumbling around. Poor Hubby has been waiting his turn to feel it from the outside but it’s completely unpredictable thus far (and he’s really not that patient when I give him a tip and offer my stretched out bump). The best I can describe it is either like when you drink too much water and it sloshes around, making a little slap on the side of your stomach, or like hunger rumbles without having to do with hunger (although hunger is quite prevalent these days). I’ve also come to notice that 90% of the fetal karate classes occur in one quadrant of my belly so that seems to be a sign as well. While it’s pretty neat to feel something actually happening in there, I am trying to cherish the moments when I don’t feel much because, from what I can tell, it only gets more intense, more frequent, and more like a “real” baby: “hey ma, you think it’s time to sleep, WRONG! I’m hungry/bored/poopy/just want to cry and get your attention.”

Add heartburn to the list...

As if I haven’t been complaining enough lately, now I’m getting heartburn. Seriously Body, all the books say the second trimester is supposed to be this amazing reprieve between the fatigue and hormonal confusion of the first few months and the enormity and discomfort of the last few months, can you get the memo already?

So heartburn, which I was lucky enough to claim ignorance of until about a week ago, is not really a burn and not really near your heart; it’s more of an acid melt all through your chest. It is like you swallowed a nice thick shot of gasoline (or perhaps something like Jagermeister, if you aren’t knocked up) and then someone lit a match in your stomach so the resulting flame slowly trickles up your esophagus and crawls out your mouth after sitting at the back of your throat for a few moments. Then, the clear air passes through and you don’t know when the cycle will strike again. On our road trip, chips were giving me this wonderful experience. But yesterday, they were not. I had too many jalapenos on my sandwich today, but not three days ago. It’s really just another great surprise, ain’t it?

Maybe next time I’ll write something awesome about pregnancy, like a newfound love of juice (which, naturally, is on the list of things that gives you heartburn).

It's cankle time!

We have completed our cross-country move; it’s the 6^th time I’ve had to make such a 30+ hour drive and let’s hope for everyone’s sake I never have to do it again. How boring is sitting in a truck for two and a half days straight? I can’t think of much else I would rather do less, but, that point is moot because I’m here for good.

Something new and exciting did occur on our journey though, and I’m not talking about camping through a tornado in Missouri, I’m talking about cankles. You know, you’ve seen them, you’ve wondered how they got that way. I will tell you: pregnancy and dehydration and sitting for too damn long. Or maybe some combo of the three—but that was my magic trifecta. It started with some agitation and tightness in my lower legs and ended a couple days later with some kid in a parking lot pointing at me and asking why I had elephant legs (not really, thank goodness). Cankles really are a wonder; I definitely feel for those who, for some unfortunate reason, have legitimate cankles, but I am also fascinated by them at the same time. They’re like fresh sausages in a thin casing, tight but squishy at the same time. They’re like an amorphous, detached part of your own body you know you should be able to feel but can’t. You can poke the skin around the ankle and not feel bone! In fact, I started to play with them so much Hubby had to tell me to stop. I told you the trip was boring.

Wedding season

It’s June 1, and I’m two weddings deep into wedding season. Two sober weddings, by golly. Have you ever been to a wedding and not had a drink? I mean even one drink? It’s terrible. You can’t even raise a glass for the toast without feeling like a moron. At the first wedding, someone kept saying “I can’t believe you’re sober. Tomorrow you’ll have to tell me all about this—blah blah blah.” And also, people have to comment on me dancing like a mad-woman without being tipsy. Leave me alone, alright. Dance parties are awesome. Sigh.

I can’t wait for the doctor to give me the go-ahead; I think it’s coming soon, but I’m not about to self-diagnose and then have the baby come out to them yelling: “Holy cow, how much have you been drinking? Look at this thing!” and then push some call button so all the other doctors and midwives and med-students in the county can come witness what happens when a mother drinks alcohol at the wrong point in her pregnancy.

I’m also definitely not listening to people who say “No amount of alcohol is ever safe.” Please, like I have that kind of self-restraint.