The Great Disappearing Act

22 Mar

It’s official. I’m almost-not-quite 27 weeks pregnant and I can no longer see my feet when I’m walking down stairs. As for my lady-parts? I said goodbye to those a couple of weeks ago and for the record yes, it is super freaky not being able to see what’s going on down there.

Not that I made a habit of looking all the time or anything weird like that, but you know – you’d catch sight of things every now and again and be reassured that everything was still all normal. Now? Now I have no idea. Though The Boy has recently learnt an interesting new medical fact – lady parts tend to look bigger when one is growing a new human. Here he was thinking that larger-than-life vagina’s were perhaps something to do with the Western Sydney demographic but noooo… something changes around the 25 week mark and wham! That thing grows! Which I guess I should say is probably A Good Thing because full-term fetuses aren’t exactly small. I’m just hoping it snaps back to normal once all’s said and done.

Anyway…

Pregnancy week 27 has seen a return of first trimester nausea, as well as some exciting new symptoms such as leg cramps, dizziness, shortness of breath and an overall grumpiness that kinda makes me want to slap pretty much everyone. And then cry because I’ve turned into an awful human being, who will be a horrible mother, who will then create a mass-murdering child because she is a terrible role model. Is there such a thing as pregnancy-induced bipolar? Because I think I probably have that.

In all seriousness, while I love the fact that soon The Boy and I will have a baby I can think of better ways to get there than through experiencing nine months of pregnancy. I know there are women out there who love, love, LOVE being pregnant, and would give anything to be in my shoes but I’m not the type of pregnant chic that glows. Sure, the kicking is pretty sweet and the bigger boobs are definitely a bonus, but the moods, cramps, tiredness and unpredictable tears I could probably do without. Don’t even get me started on the back-fat and the gas.

So last week was a bit of a whingey week. I was tired, I was grumpy, I was behind in my school work and on the only day in this pregnancy where I’ve had the chance to get dressed up for a nice night out with The Boy I got a face full of cold sores and it rained, turning my tediously straightened hair into a mop of unruly frizz. As recompense I chucked a Monday morning sickie and schlepped around in my PJ’s, watching movies and eating pizza in bed with The Boy. As a result I still have the back-fat and the cold sores, but I’m no longer the totally wasted, grumpy bitch I was for most of the weekend.

And as for the moral of this story…aside from the one The Boy bought up about girls making silly decisions regarding snakes and eating apples (which I DARE him to repeat in the labour ward) it’s that pizza and snuggles can fix (almost) anything.

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