confirmations of the obvious, 26 weeks, 2 days

So, as it turns out, full time employment is really getting in the way of my blogging habit. It’s hard to believe that I’ve been absent from this space for more than two weeks. <dusting off the ole computer, clearing the cobwebs from my rusty writing brain>. Bear with me while I catch up on all things blog-o-sphere and painfully rekindle some semblance of writing groove. Here we go…

As though I needed additional confirmation that I am (spoiler alert) six and a half months pregnant <brain exploding>, the last few weeks have provided ample reminders. Here, just a few:

(1) Newfound empathy for the aged, frail and morbidly obese

There came a time, probably a couple weeks ago, when all of a sudden I noticed it. When putting on my shoes became a task. When picking something up off the floor became a strained, and laborious chore. When, all at once, I realized that I could no longer bend over – as in, you know, Bending. At the waist. Straight down. Like a capable, functioning human.

Because all at once, I became awkward/waddling/rotund/oh-my-goodness-i-think-i-can-hear-my-round-ligaments-exploding! And in that moment, I shared a special kind of empathy with the more feeble, frail, aged and obese among us. Accordingly, I have alternately begun (a) squatting like some kind of pregnant duck or (more likely) (b) making C do discreet tasks for which I am too lazy everything. <cut to scene of C daintily putting on my dress shoes[1]>

(2) Nesting

Truth be told, this started a long time ago. Like, before I was pregnant and just trying and every subtle twinge anywhere near my pelvis/ovaries/eyeballs was a cue to start painting the nursery. But, conscientious pregnant lady that I am, I’ve been working hard to step up my game, lest I forego an opportunity to spend hours weeks meandering down the vast rabbit holes of the interweb-pinterest-apartment-therapy-craigslist-must-scower-every-baby-item-in-the-universe ness.

So here we are. Scouting mid century modern dressers on Craigslist - and picking them up in the distant suburbs with the help of two incredible friends - and lining the drawers with fox themed shelf paper. Wondering whether I can get away with a wall covered in reclaimed pallet wood. Ordering vintage maps off Etsy and endlessly perusing paint colors. Because, you know, my screaming, pooping infant will appreciate nothing if not my hip, forward thinking sense of style. #parentingwin!

Photography skillz remain, ahem, a work in progress.

(3) Other people

C and I were out for ice cream the other night – because I live to embody every pregnancy stereotype[2] – when the following transpired:

C: have you noticed that woman is smiling at you?

Sarah: <growing discomfort>

C: Seriously, she keeps looking at your belly and just…like…smiling? <perplexed>

Sarah: <quietly now> women smile at me now that I’m pregnant. It’s a thing.

C: Wait, are you serious?

Sarah: <attempts to change subject>

C: Umm, she’s coming over…

Mysterious-30-something-lady-in-line-at-ice-cream-shoppe[3]: <effusive> Oh-my-god-you-are-like-the-most-adorable-pregnant-woman-in-the-world!

Sarah: <UTTER MORTIFICATION/uncomfortable laughter> ... thank you.

Of course, C found this terribly amusing and excellent fodder for future embarrassment. He will now forever respond to questions about how I look with only the following refrain, <mockingly> you are like, the most adorable pregnant woman ever!

*face palm*

(On the other end of the spectrum, one of my particularly earnest students approached me during office hours and mentioned that had I not said it, she never would have noticed that I was six months pregnant. Because I’m compassionate, I immediately docked her grade for poor judgment and insight. Thankfully she recovered last week by complimenting my skinny-legged maternity pants. Flattery, it’s the best form of grade mongering.[4])

(4) La linea nigra![5]

Okay, so, hypothetically, I knew this was a thing. I was, I guess?, vaguely aware that during pregnancy, a dark, vertical line could appear across your ever-expanding-belly, just to, you know, increase the sexy. But vaguely knowing that a thing is existentially possible and even going so far as to acknowledge it by reading the (surprisingly short) Wikipedia page devoted to it, is very, very different from one day noticing that thing, on your own, ever-expanding-belly. Melanocyte-stimulating-hormone, you bastard! *shakes fist*

So. There you have it. Mark my return to the blog-o-sphere with these 4, completely-random-if-you-didn’t-know-you-were-pregnant-you-sure-as-hell-would-know-now, confirmations of the obvious.

What am I missing?

p.s. Because I’m a sucker for peer pressure, I’m contemplating the possibility of a bump page. To showcase my ever expanding gut and also to ensure that my future son will be totally warped by his pre-natal outing on the interwebs. <saving money for therapy now>. Discuss.

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[1] Truth: that never happened. A girl can dream, right?

[2] I ordered pickle flavored ice cream, natch.

[3] I’m making an executive decision that all ice cream places are shoppes. Even this one, which is a corporate chain.  It’s just quainter that way.

[4] Kidding! Our grading criteria only include objective measures, like whether or not I like the student. <deadpan>

[5] So, first things first. Every time I say this – which is, often? apparently? – I can’t help but think of La Viuda Negra! Clearly NBC agrees since they made a poorly translated (vaguely racist?) entire website devoted to it.

living dangerously

I’m approaching one full year of trying to conceive. One full year in which, for the most part, I’ve lived like a nun. No drinking, no needle drugs[1], plenty of exercise, vegetarian diet, sex on schedule. Well, it’s time to get real. I’ve been at this almost a year and if I’m honest with myself, I know it might take yet another year[2] to make this happen.

So today I am making a decision. I’m sick of living like a prohibitionist (aside: I must not be the only one engaging in this illogical behavior?). Because I’ve been a vegetarian for 10 years and exercise is therapy-on-the-cheap, those things won’t change. And fine, if I’m being honest, exclusively-scheduled-sex ended long ago – cannot celebrate enough the benefits of spontaneity.

But about the drinking: I’ve never been a heavy drinker but, it turns out (deep insight here), a social beverage now and again is actually pretty great. Wine with dinner? Cocktail after a tough day? An eye-opener first thing in the morning? A beer with the game (who am I kidding, I don’t watch any sort of “game”)?

I have no idea why I’ve been so incomprehensibly paranoid about drinking – even on days when I literally could not be pregnant, I still refrain. (The arm-chair psychologist who lives in the back of my head suggests that it’s my way of “taking control” in a situation where I basically have none. Whatever.).

The point is, I’m willing to cop to my irrational behavior because C has gotten into making some excellent, winter-citrus-inspired cocktails and damnit, I’ve had enough of being a teetotaler. Not to mention that every drink politely declined in mixed company – combined with the ohmygod-Clomid-bloating-weight – becomes further proof to my in-the-dark friends that I must be pregnant. Which, while kind of entertaining, is really just sad – boy will they be disappointed in 9 months.

There’s also this, helpfully pointed out by a very insightful friend: because I am *cough* brave and, ahem, strong, I remained (relatively) emotionally stable during a week in which I both recovered from a chemical pregnancy AND confronted the end of 30 Rock.[3] So I’m drinking. Because I earned it.

Without further adieu, the drink that makes drinking again much more worthwhile (after the jump).