The Superficial
With this 3rd pregnancy, I really should be thinking about starting another 529, about how we’re going to make room for a nursery, about things. that. really. matter. Instead, I obsess over the superficial.
Is this pregnancy going to destroy me and my body forevermore? (Sob)
First, it starts with the first trimester weight gain-when it’s too early to tell everyone and you just have to sit there and bite your lip and you KNOW everyone’s wondering whether you’ve been hitting the all-you-can-eat buffet one too many times lately. And the belly! It took until 4 months or something with #1 to start showing and, this time, I swear I blinked and the next minute I was 9 weeks and downright rotund. Dude. Breaking out the fat, ugly clothes now? For 31 more weeks? Lord, no.
Then, it progresses to superficial fears. My first 2 pregnancies ravaged me, but at least I’ve never needed to tuck my abdominal skin in my pants SO FAR. What if now that I’m older, I’m past the point of elastic return? What if I blow up like a house (again), but this time, I STAY THAT WAY FOREVER? All the neighbors will be talking smack about me when they need to pull up the bulldozer to break me out of my bedroom. What if the third time is the straw that breaks the camel’s back and I end up peeing every time I laugh, snort, cough, or run? Sure, my leg veins withstood the pressure of carrying fetal sumo wrestlers x 2, but is this the pregnancy that’s going to give me the varicose-legs of a 80-year old woman?
What if this is the beginning of the end?
My husband thinks I’m being ridiculous, but that’s easy for him to say. HE’S not pushing his body into the boondocks of Bustedville again.
It’s a trip. A wonderful , miracle-filled, life-giving trip. But, also, a crazy superficial one full of fears of losing me (or, gaining extra parts of me, as the case may sadly be).