Baby size : aubergine
How I feel : stretched, need naps, chocolate is God, but pretty great ‘considering’...
Yesterday, as I walked down the stairs towards **Frank, he said ‘Oh here she is, the Pregosaurus’.
Think about it... ‘Oh here she is, the Pregosaurus’.
Just another minute.
Ya. Pregosaurus. Holy mother of divine shite.
I’m somehow being compared to a dinosaur. Holy shit balls. I definitely don’t want to be compared in any way to a huge, old, extinct, past it, wide, heavy, plodding, leathery creature. It definitely doesn’t make me feel like I’m ‘blossoming‘ or ‘glowing’, words which I’ve pretty much come to demand in my head when people feel compelled to comment on my appearance. I mean, lets be honest, those are the only acceptable words to use when referring to a pregnant woman. Frank clearly hasn’t gotten that memo!
I mean, I feel good, I think I’m looking pretty well. Keeping in mind that most of me is expanding, ‘pretty well’ right now equates to me ‘normally’ looking Pretty Fucking Fabulous in my opinion. So that’s all I want to hear, how bloody great I’m looking and how well I’m doing and that is the full extent of it please. Not ‘well, considering...’. Not ‘well, despite of...’ Just - well! Frank may as well have stuck a sign on my thickening arse saying ‘WIDE LOAD’. Pregosaurus comments are NOT welcome.
Another curious thing is the amount of friends (all men) who have asked me how my sex drive is and if I’m still having sex with my husband. One guy asked me with genuine concern whether my husband was turned off by my pregnancy. If I’d answered ‘yes’ I think my husband would have been in grave danger so at least I know this guy has my back, but LORD, I didn’t realise it was cool to broach questions like that before 2am, a third bottle of wine and a cheese board!
It didn’t even occur to me that my husband would not want to have sex with me. Whether that potentially be because he was repulsed by my bump, or think that having sex would in some way invade the baby’s space or for any other reason people may have. I think my brain blocked that thought out. With everything else going on in my life, my brain just assumed that my husband was not a wanker who only saw my widening form and that was the end of that conversation. For the record, I’m not privy to a lot of things that go on in my head. If things are obvious to my brain, it just doesn’t go there and analyse them. If I thought for one second that my husband didn't want to have sex with me because I was pregnant, this blog would be a HELL of a lot longer. There would be empty cans and worms bloody well EVERYWHERE. Anyway, I don’t want to say I’m ‘grateful’ that my husband doesn’t see me as a Pregosaurus - because I should be able to take that for granted for feck sake - but I suppose I am. I feel good, I look good (thank you hairpieces and make-up for being heavily involved in that) and despite eating enough cream eggs to keep the sugar levels of a small town sky high, I’m healthy.
So, overall, I’m still excited and optimistic about the next 13 weeks. In that time I will become a parent and a homeowner, work 6 days a week, plan and prepare for post pregnancy work, try to see all my friends before I can never leave the house again without military style planning, learn to drive and pass my test, work on new writing projects and, above all, figure out how in the name of jaysus I’m going to keep a small baby alive having never changed a nappy in my life. This is all doable right?
* In case my maths bug the geniuses out there, I'm 26 and a bit weeks pregnant with 13 and a bit weeks to go. Two bits equals one in my book, bringing it to a nice round 40 weeks of pregnancy :-)
**his name's not Frank