Yes, we're all still alive. Sorry for the lack of updates (is it my imagination, or is that phrase in every third post on this blog?) but we've been crazy busy lately. We're arranging movers and signing a lease, connecting utilities and making doctor's appointments, returning rental cars and packing boxes. Yea, I say unto thee, we are busy as fuck.
But enough about all that. What I really want to do today is chronicle more...
[insert 60s educational filmstrip music]
...Indignities Of Pregnancy!
Yay!
Starting with boobs.
Now, don't get me wrong, I am a fan of boobs, they are one of the pinnacles of human evolution, I agree with you there. Playthings, food sources, sex signifiers...is there anything boobs can't do?
But occasionally, as when you are pregnant and throbbing with 33% more fluid volume than in your non-pregnant state, the boobs can become...a bit much. Take my boobs, for example. Please. (Ba-dum-bum.) No really, I would give anything to have detachable boobs right at this moment. (That was the alternate song lyric title source for this post - King Missile's "Detachable Penis." But I wasn't sure anyone would get the connection.) They are so incredibly, enormously unwieldy and...big. They're heavy. They're itchy. They're cumbersome. It would be a relief to just rip them off via a handy velcro strip and put them on the nightstand while I sleep.
I have had to buy new bras, of course, but not too many new bras, because you don't want to go investing in the complete spectrum of 38 DDDs when a month later you will have outgrown them and need to invest in even larger bras. (The advice for new bras whilst pregnant is completely contradictory to new bra advice normally - you want to buy them so that the bra fits well on the smallest set of hooks, giving you theoretical room to expand as your boobs expand, whereas in a normal new bra situation, you want the bra to fit well on the largest set so you can tighten the bra as the elastic starts to stretch out and not support as well. Or something like that. And lingerie purveyors of the world, can we please standardize our friggin' bra sizing already? Is it an F cup? Or a DDD? Consistency, please, people!)
KB put one of my newer bras on his head the other night (yes, his entire head fit in one cup - granted, he has a smallish head, but still) and starting shouting, "Pilot to bombadier, pilot to bombadier, we've reached altitude! Fire away!" All he needed was a scarf and some goggles.
But he is quite happy with the boobage, he says. There are men out there, I'm told, who are truly not fans of the generous cleavage, who much prefer their women to be card-carrying members of the Itty Bitty Titty Committee, but luckily for me KB is not one of them.
The only good thing about having ginormous boobs is that they make my ginormous belly look somewhat proportional. And even that benefit will go away as I hit months 8 & 9 and proportionality goes out the window - total strangers start to look worried about sharing the subway with you, lest they be unwillingly conscripted into service as midwives.
(And no, I haven't taken any belly pictures this time around. It just hasn't seemed as novel. Or necessary.)
And...let's see, what else, besides the standard heartburn, insomnia, frequent urination? Oh, there's the pregnancy-induced carpal tunnel syndrome. That's fun. Because of the afore-mentioned increased fluid volume, the nerves that pass through the wrist are squeezed, causing shooting pain, numbness, and that lovely pins-and-needles feeling. That'll wake you up at night. So now I wear a nice beige elastic "wrist positioner" to bed every night, with velcro tightening straps that always manage to get caught in the sheets. Yay!
Plus there's the fact that I now weigh more than my husband. Granted, this is not difficult when you are married to a beanpole like KB, as I am, but it is sobering nonetheless. I have gained less weight this time around than I did with Nolan (a fairly universal trend, it seems, gaining less weight in a second pregnancy - perhaps because Mommy is too busy chasing Offspring #1 all over hither and yon to put up her feet and eat some bonbons), but I have gained a fair amount. There must be some subconscious inherited-from-the-cavemen genetic edict that states that the "natural balance" of things is Man: Big :: Woman: Smaller making me feel bad for being more massive.
Pretty soon there'll be no room left in the bed for KB. I've got The Belly, The Boobs, and 47 pillows strategically stacked, folded, layered and tucked to create the optimal sleeping environment for me and Doodle. Sleep on your left side, so as not to put pressure on the inferior vena cava. Elevate your right arm, to try to reduce the carpal tunnel symptoms. Strap on your wrist positioner. Tuck a pillow under your giant belly to support it so your back muscles aren't twisted too much. Tuck another pillow between your knees so your hips aren't torqued. Now, don't move. Breathe deeply. Try to get as much sleep as possible before you have to get up to pee in four hours.
Enjoy!
Thanks for reading.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment