I’ve been counting down since October 1st and am now around the halfway point. That’s a relief, though six more weeks seems like an awfully long time.
I’m already coming close to busting out of the maternity clothes I started wearing less than three months ago. I now use a black belly band to prevent my bare belly from popping out at work.
Yoga is depressing me. I did prenatal yoga up until the day I went into labor with River (I began labor just after I returned home from yoga). It’s not happening this time. The teacher has higher expectations and I end up more bummed about all the stuff I can’t do than I am relaxed and soothed. Also, there was a great community in my yoga class last time. I’m still in touch with most of the people three years later. But too many people are coming in and out of this one, so it’s lacking the sense of we’re all in this journey together. I regret signing up for another session.
My stomach is a calabash, one of the firm semi-circular gourds commonly used around the house in Africa.
I am notably conscious of carrying around a large, moving object. This has made it not only difficult to maneuver, but is at times painful.
Picking up a small object from the ground has become an Olympian feat. Doing anything with my shoes is getting to that level of achievement. I still pick up River (I feel like I don’t have much choice there – I have to get him in and out of bed, onto and off the toilet and sometimes in and out of the carseat), but lifting 36 pounds doesn’t seem like the best idea.
I’m starting to feel a special level of consideration, especially from men. People hold open doors for me, they let me go first if we bump into each other in the hall. I’m getting the “it must be coming soon” looks from people. Nobody has commented that I’m especially large, but they are not surprised to hear it will be arriving just over a month from now.
I feel like I take up the entire hallway at work. Walking down the hallways, I feel debilitated, like I’m falling to pieces, and like this must be evident to people who see me. Perhaps this is where the “it must be coming soon” looks are coming from. I don’t feel quite so bad walking in other places. Perhaps it’s the effect of long periods of sitting.
I am so beyond grateful for finding an incredible masseuse and the treat of a weekly massage. Heaven. Absolute heaven.
I read somewhere that babies born between 34 and 37 weeks tend to do fine in the long-term. I don’t think I’m much at risk of delivering early. But still, it’s nice to know that it’s close to fully baked, close enough that it is likely to have a normal life should it come at any point now.
I feel an attachment to the idea of the person who will appear. In the same way I now imagine River within me, and am glad I was able to provide him with what he needed to begin his journey to the person he is now, I’m sure I’ll eventually have similar feelings about this child. But for now, it remains very much a thing inside me. I can’t visualize it. I don’t talk to it. I don’t try to expose it to music or other stimuli. I don’t feel much connection to it. When my yoga teacher tells us to put our hands on our belly and connect with the beautiful life we’re creating within, it feels false to me.
I am made happy by:
-apple strudel from a gourmet bakeshop with vanilla gelato and goat milk caramel sauce
-the intense color of the sky in the late afternoon
-strolls through mild weather and crisp autumn leaves
-looking into River’s eyes and feeling the sense of perfect mutual understanding
-conversations with friends
-my commute. As long as the weather holds up, I like having the opportunity to walk four miles in the course of the day, to listen to audiobooks, and to have a little quiet time to myself.
-cooking, organizing, recording, planning