The obstacle
All in all, this pregnancy has gone better than textbook from the start. I say better than textbook, because all the measurable milestones have come pretty much where they're expected. Apart from a little jump up around Christmas and down at the end of our Mexico trip, weight gain has fallen almost exactly on the marker at each checkup without much conscious effort on my part. At the ultrasound, the key measurements of this growing person were all just a little above or below the 'standard', averaging out to just where they were expected.
The 'better' part comes in in those areas where there are no rules - the majority of pregnancy, really - where there's a whole range of symptoms, side effects and complications that you may or may not experience to a little or large degree. I continue to count myself hugely blessed in that respect, as I had no morning sickness to speak of, little in the way of strong food aversions (buttered popcorn was definitely out for awhile), and cravings for basically good healthy food. I've been able to stay pretty active - even walked the Times-Colonist 10K a few weeks ago.
But finally, at nearly six months, one thing is starting to catch up to me. My belly. I've bumped into a doorframe or two with it, and I certainly don't bend as easily when it comes to putting on shoes or shuffling laundry. And just in the last week or so I've found that our couch is a little lower than I'd like it to be. We often end up eating there, mostly because we don't see the top of the kitchen table for months at a time, beyond the little square I carve out for my breakfast each morning. I can sit relatively comfortably on the couch for hours if I put my feet up or sit cross-legged and lean back on the arm. But when I face the coffee table and sit upright enough to use a fork and knife, it feels like I've got my knees up around my ears and any space that was available for processing a meal has been squeezed out.
Getting comfortable at night is becoming harder, too. I've been sleeping on my side almost exclusively for months now, but it takes a bit more coordination and care to roll over when I wake up stiff and need to shift and stretch. If I move too quickly, the baby's apt to protest having its world inverted, pushing hard into some corner of my insides like it's trying to turn me back. And all that shifting tends to mean the sheets get pulled up. As our bed just fits into a nook, you can't walk around the bed to tuck the sheets under, so making the bed involves aligning the sheet at the foot of the bed and the partial side you can access, and then moving across the bed to stretch and tuck as you go. No military tight corners here at the best of times, but the belly now rules out stretching out to do it, so it's hands and knees. I'm always happy when we tuck the last corner in that I can flop right there on the bed and catch my breath.
A couple of weeks ago, after we'd closed the deal on the house, the Bear asked me, "Now, can I get a dishwasher, now that the place is ours?"
I had to ask him back with a grin, knowing full well what I was opening myself up for, "You don't like the current model?"
"Well, it seems to be slowing down over the last few months. It doesn't run as often, and can't do as many dishes at a time." Vince had wanted to buy a portable dishwasher as soon as we moved in last August, but I'd flatly refused. Partly on the principle of at least trying to do things ourselves instead of spending more money, and partly to avoid acquiring another big, heavy thing that we'd have to move and might not need at our next place. Anyhow, I made him a deal that, since he does most of the cooking, if he had dinner ready at a reasonable hour each night, I'd do the dishes after. In the middle of last week, I was well behind in the dishes and was finally home early and awake enough to tackle them. I laughed to discover it was harder than the last time to actually get over the sink. The obstacle had grown again after the weekend's yard workout (I've noticed a pattern that anytime I do something that involves extra exercise, the baby spends the next couple of days growing). So, I haven't given in yet, but I'm starting to think a dishwasher isn't such a bad idea.
The other thing about my belly that intrigues me is how vastly different people's perceptions of it can be.
At 27 weeks, I've had everything from, "It's about time you started to show," and "Now everyone finally believes your pregnant," to "Three months to go still? That's going to be a big baby." Of course, I have all the other evidence that it's growing, including the actual feeling of being pushed out a little further on a given day. But one of my favourites is the little hernia scar that's been tucked inside my belly button since I was a baby. It's now quite visible below what's left of my 'innie'.
The 'better' part comes in in those areas where there are no rules - the majority of pregnancy, really - where there's a whole range of symptoms, side effects and complications that you may or may not experience to a little or large degree. I continue to count myself hugely blessed in that respect, as I had no morning sickness to speak of, little in the way of strong food aversions (buttered popcorn was definitely out for awhile), and cravings for basically good healthy food. I've been able to stay pretty active - even walked the Times-Colonist 10K a few weeks ago.
But finally, at nearly six months, one thing is starting to catch up to me. My belly. I've bumped into a doorframe or two with it, and I certainly don't bend as easily when it comes to putting on shoes or shuffling laundry. And just in the last week or so I've found that our couch is a little lower than I'd like it to be. We often end up eating there, mostly because we don't see the top of the kitchen table for months at a time, beyond the little square I carve out for my breakfast each morning. I can sit relatively comfortably on the couch for hours if I put my feet up or sit cross-legged and lean back on the arm. But when I face the coffee table and sit upright enough to use a fork and knife, it feels like I've got my knees up around my ears and any space that was available for processing a meal has been squeezed out.
Getting comfortable at night is becoming harder, too. I've been sleeping on my side almost exclusively for months now, but it takes a bit more coordination and care to roll over when I wake up stiff and need to shift and stretch. If I move too quickly, the baby's apt to protest having its world inverted, pushing hard into some corner of my insides like it's trying to turn me back. And all that shifting tends to mean the sheets get pulled up. As our bed just fits into a nook, you can't walk around the bed to tuck the sheets under, so making the bed involves aligning the sheet at the foot of the bed and the partial side you can access, and then moving across the bed to stretch and tuck as you go. No military tight corners here at the best of times, but the belly now rules out stretching out to do it, so it's hands and knees. I'm always happy when we tuck the last corner in that I can flop right there on the bed and catch my breath.
A couple of weeks ago, after we'd closed the deal on the house, the Bear asked me, "Now, can I get a dishwasher, now that the place is ours?"
I had to ask him back with a grin, knowing full well what I was opening myself up for, "You don't like the current model?"
"Well, it seems to be slowing down over the last few months. It doesn't run as often, and can't do as many dishes at a time." Vince had wanted to buy a portable dishwasher as soon as we moved in last August, but I'd flatly refused. Partly on the principle of at least trying to do things ourselves instead of spending more money, and partly to avoid acquiring another big, heavy thing that we'd have to move and might not need at our next place. Anyhow, I made him a deal that, since he does most of the cooking, if he had dinner ready at a reasonable hour each night, I'd do the dishes after. In the middle of last week, I was well behind in the dishes and was finally home early and awake enough to tackle them. I laughed to discover it was harder than the last time to actually get over the sink. The obstacle had grown again after the weekend's yard workout (I've noticed a pattern that anytime I do something that involves extra exercise, the baby spends the next couple of days growing). So, I haven't given in yet, but I'm starting to think a dishwasher isn't such a bad idea.
The other thing about my belly that intrigues me is how vastly different people's perceptions of it can be.
At 27 weeks, I've had everything from, "It's about time you started to show," and "Now everyone finally believes your pregnant," to "Three months to go still? That's going to be a big baby." Of course, I have all the other evidence that it's growing, including the actual feeling of being pushed out a little further on a given day. But one of my favourites is the little hernia scar that's been tucked inside my belly button since I was a baby. It's now quite visible below what's left of my 'innie'.
posted by Coastal at
4:25 p.m.
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