While clumsily sliding into my orthopedic Vans to accommodate my swollen feet and Bachelor Ben Higgins -worthy, transitory cankles, I worried this morning that I wasn’t going to be able to get back up in my closet – seriously considering if I was going to have to spend the entire Friday on the floor with dust-collecting Dry Clean Only clothes, until Tye returned home from work. Biggest concern was easily, who would bring me lunch…? Would a pizza delivery person be willing to meet me by my shoes? And – would he/she be willing to drop off my dry cleaning?
Everyone who has said to me – or has said in general – that pregnancy is a “beautiful process” has been added to the list of chronic liars that also includes:
- People who say getting tattoos doesn’t hurt
- People who act like sucking on Warhead candy is a walk in the park (my face hurts just thinking about the Black Cherry)
- Women who claim their feet don’t hurt after a day in heels
So today during Friday-Fun-Lunch (what we do at my office in addition to wearing jeans on Friday, which is also fun) while everyone was ordering adult beverages and I was having my 3,459,834,697,534 trillionth glass of decaffeinated tea, I started thinking about the things I wanted to do as soon as my child exits my body:
- Binge on sushi. My husband who has “always hated sushi” in the same way he’s hated anything new and different until actually trying it (ex: feta cheese, pita chips and Crest white strips) discovered that he likes sushi while recently visiting my parents in Nashville. It’s okay – I’ve spent 6+ years trying to add sushi to his palate and have accepted never getting to have a sushi date night, but in my 8th month of pregnancy, he discovers how delicious it is. As soon as homegirl is out, we’re having sushi. Lots of it.
- Drink an entire case of cider beer. Woodchuck. It’s already in the fridge, waiting patiently. As am I.
- NOT feel like a Russian matryoshka nesting doll during sex
- Eat a Jersey Mike’s sub, Mike’s Way. Cold, lunch meat and all.
- Reintroduce “dangerous” products and habits back into my beauty routine like Retinol eye cream and RevitaLash. Laying in the sun.
- Go to the gym without any remarks or questions from nosy, concerned onlookers. I had a strange man in bike shorts ask me if I was having twins…and then follow up with, “Do you have anyone to take care of the baby once its born?” Um… her father and I? Nope – planning on donating her to the gym. What!?! You’re wearing bike shorts!
- Going to the gym and having a productive workout. Yesterday, I was getting lapped on the stationary bike – and I thought I was going to die. Also, I don’t want to have the baby under the squat rack. I miss not having that fear.
- I know sleep isn’t coming back for a while, but I would like to sleep on my stomach again, and not need a push from my husband every time I sit up, move the carefully positioned pillows and venture to the bathroom. He does it in his sleep now. Bless him.
- Paint my own toenails.
- Wait, be able to actually see my own toes. Be able to see anything below the belly button. Oh, and I want my belly button to go back in.
Things I’ll likely not want to give up post-pregnancy:
- Leggings as pants.
- Red Robin’s bottomless shakes. Thanks to them, I am also no longer bottomless.
- Uggs (my “given-up boots” as Tye refers to them) as an actual, day-to-day shoe and not just something for snow-casions or lounging around the house in when trying to save money on electricity.
- Smoothie flavored Tums. Seriously, best thing ever.
- Hope in humanity. Something happens when you’re pregnant that triggers kindness in (most) people and prompts them to do selfless things like, hold the door for you, not almost hit you with their car when you’re in the cross walk, hold a polite conversation in the check-out line at the grocery store, tell you you don’t even look that pregnant when ordering a decaf latte at Starbucks – and make you a ‘mocktail’ for free when you’re at a bar and everyone is enjoying their drinks except for you because you are drinking Mr. Pibb, or water, or tea.
Less than four weeks to go, folks. Pelvic exams begin next week. At my last appointment, they said they were going to check my nether-regions for strep. I didn’t even know you could strep down there. We’ve come this far. Bring it on, doc.