In which we discover the Awful Truth that pregnancy destroys your brain. Either that or the baby steals it. Supposedly the baby's brain mass doubles in between now and due date. Suspicious, that. I mean, come on. If you have two piles of gooey brain cells, and one of the piles is getting bigger and more productive, and the other pile shrinks, decays, and in other words, ATROPHIES, what does that lead you to think?
Not that I'm not happy to make the donation. Of course I want a brilliant baby. And after all, we only use a hundredth of our brain, so I have some to spare. I just hope some of that 99% of unused brain starts kicking in soon.
How do I know my brain is shriveled? There have been a few small clues, such as...
The day I spent forty minutes glaring at the unboiled teapot before realizing I'd forgotten to turn on the stove.
The day the timer went off for the oven and I blithely waltzed into the kitchen, shut off the TIMER and danced (er, waddled) away leaving the OVEN on.
The day (er, days) when I call T asking when he'll be home, only to hear the understandably irate reply "When you remember to come pick me up!"
The fact that I have a new fine on my library card EVERY time I visit the library.
The discovery of $50 dollars in the tube of the toilet paper. (don't ask ME why I put it there!)
...and on and on...
The sad part is, it's all starting to feel normal.
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I'm developing a whole new perspective on the Genesis verse about women and childbearing. Everyone assumes that refers to labor; however, I think it refers to pregnancy. And the sin being expiated for is pride. Pregnancy and dignity do not go together. What is dignified, for instance, about:
wearing adult diapers. (the Birth Center hands out free ones for after the birth)
waddling instead of walking.
spending more time in the bathroom than any other room.
bursting into tears in WalMart. For no reason.
pregnancy rashes that change your golden-brown tan to Purple Spotted Leopard Skin.
having as much stamina as a 90-year-old.
or, the Ultimate Humiliation: getting Stuck. This is when you accidentally sit or squat or bend over or lean and your body locks up, effectively freezing you in place. This can take various forms, but the most humiliating for you (and most amusing for passers-by) is the bent-over pose. You drop something in the middle of an open space. You look around and realize there are no handy handholds for you to lower yourself gradually floorwards. You take a deep breath and bennnnddddd dooooowwwwwnnnn...
Oops. Stuck. And there you are, touching your toes with your fanny pointing skyward, unable to do a thing about it.
Vanity? Pride? Dignity? Ummmhmm.
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Sarcasm aside, life at 35 weeks pregnant actually isn't bad. In fact, I was at the beach recently, huffing and puffing my way out of the water after a good tussle with some 5-foot waves, when a passerby stopped to chat and inquired if I was "miserable yet."
That opened my eyes. Sure, I'm uncomfortable. Yes, I'm tired, emotional, and itchy. But I'm also happy, excited, and looking oh-so-forward to snuggling with my little rib-kicker. This whole process of pregnancy and birth is a miracle. It's like being present on the Day of Creation. It's given me a whole new outlook on life. I hope it's made me a better and more appreciative person: I certainly appreciate the work my parents put in more.
So have I been or will I be miserable? Nope!
