Pregnancy Ponderings

I know it's not always smart to blog about what is on your mind.  But I am going to subject you to some ramblings here.  But you're probably used to that by now, right?  First of all, how is it fair when I know how little sleep I will be getting when the baby actually arrives that I've began an annual 3 a.m. wake-up call from my bladder?  When I get back in bed it's inevitable that the old brain begins to make mental lists of things I need to get done when I wake up, or all the problems I can't solve...like fixing the economy, child abuse, the middle east, or how to get special interest groups from buying our elected officials.  If it's feeling especially paranoid I obsess over what horrible calamity could befall us all.

Lately it's been the old massive earthquake scenario.  If tornadoes were a problem I'd be happy as a peach living in a basement.  But an earthquake with at least a seventy year old home that's had a third level renovated onto it does not sit well with me.  We'd be goners.  Specifically me and the husband.  Directly above us is a baby grand piano.  Yes folks, I could die a cartoon death after all.  Don't worry about it though.  I'm looking into a Zoloft prescription after the baby is born and then maybe I won't worry about it anymore either.  I used to think I was normal.  HAHAHAHA!

I also didn't know that my stretchmarks could grow stretchmarks.  But since I wasn't planning on wearing a crop top or a bikini for the rest of my life I guess it's not the worst thing in the world.  No, my real concern is the distressing march of my bum southward.  I'd like to think in heading south it's looking to retire to sunnier climes.  Apparently it's conflicted though.  Poor thing.  While the southern half of my bum seeks refuge with my upper thigh, the northern half is stubbornly clinging to it's post.  I knew about love handles, but I never knew that bum handles existed.  There's no other way to describe the phenomena.   It's like the Korean peninsula back there.  A nation divided.  The north is stockpiling goodness-knows-what somewhere below my hips, while the south is slipping into the vast ocean of my thigh region.  And it's a blog first: a whole paragraph dedicated to my derriere.  You're welcome.

What I'm specifically looking forward to is what I termed the G.M. after I delivered Ava.  The Gelatinous Mass.  A.K.A. my stomach.  After you've delivered your baby your stomach has to be the freakiest feeling thing in the world.  After six months of deluding yourself that the tightness of your tummy is not merely due to the growing fetus within, you're suddenly...deflated.  Literally.  And you have one or two nurses coming in at all hours to knead that bread dough tummy of yours into submission afterward.  If that's not rubbing salt in the wound, I don't know what is.  "Honey, better run to the cafeteria and grab a pan and butter it up good because these nurses are fixin' to bake a loaf."  The indignity we suffer to bring life into the world.