cute in yer ute

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weeks 21 & 22 cape may, nj

July 6:  Little Fetus Froo Froo is the size of a pomegranate.  We've reached 21 weeks.

July 7:  My belly is growing daily now.  My fingernails are growing at a remarkable rate. And, of course, my boobs continue to test the laws of bodily proportions.  Thus, my spacial awareness has been compromised.  Today, removing my shirt, I stabbed myself in the nipple with my own thumb nail.  Thank god for you, blog.  To whom else could I confide such private matters?

July 8:  Friends ask me if I feel extra "hormonal", like, am I freaking out?  I say no, but then on reflection, I realize that I totally am, but hardly anyone sees it.  Because of my schedule,  I'm basically on my own until 7 PM at night, at which point it is my job to pretend to be another person.  Who is not pregnant.  Essentially, I am a new shade of crazy that I have never been before, but no one is around to witness it.  The exception, of course, is my husband...

July 9:  Since the midwives gave me the go-ahead, I've been trying out some jogging.  I've also returned to weight-training.  It is not my pre-pregnancy routine; instead, I do what can only be referred to as a "Silver Sneakers" workout (this is what they call the fitness-for-seniors classes at the YMCA)  Sometimes I get a horrified looks when I mention "jogging" or "weight training" during pregnancy.  But here's the current common wisdom on pregnancy exercise:  if one feels well enough, she can do whatever exercise she did before she was pregnant while she is pregnant.  The are a few exceptions, like "contact sports."  Which is a bummer for those of you who know how much I love my football.

July 10:  While jogging, a lady stops me to say "I want to be in shape like you."  While I am insanely flattered by her remark, I think, to be fair, I should lift up the bottom half of my billowy T-shirt and show her that I have no waist, and could be smuggling two or three grapefruits in my abdomen.

July 11:  It's my fault for telling everyone I meet that I am expecting.  Of course I am going to get unsolicited opinions.  Today, a woman at the store tells me: "Your life will change."

Really?

She goes on for about ten minutes with some specifics, punctuating every foreboding with the same sentiment:  "Your life will change."

Really?  Lady.  You seem pretty cool.  But you make it sound like maybe I should turn back now and enjoy a few more years of cosmos and clubbing (gross and grosser.)  I am fucking forty.  I'm forty.  Do you have any idea how long I've have waited for this?  This pregnancy was not a mistake.  On the contrary.  My husband and I took extra measures to make this happen.

"Your life will change." 

You mean,  I will have to put another person before all other priorities?  I will no longer be the center of my universe?  I will be exhausted and uncomfortable and stressed over someone else?

"Your life will change."   

Well guess what...?  THANK GOD.

July 12:   Something weird is going on.  It's like the opposite of menstrual hormones which make you think you're ugly when in reality you look no different to anyone else. Pregnant, my belly is big, my weight is up, I'm still nauseous a lot of the time, but in the fun-house maternity mirror, I feel prettier than I have ever felt in my life.  

July 13: At 22 weeks, Little Fetus Froo Froo is the size of a papaya.  Coincidentally, for the show in which I'm performing, there is a song in the preshow lineup which starts out... "Pa-pa-pa-paya!"  It is a ridiculous song that evidently peaked in 1953, the year in which Moon Over Buffalo is set.  One of the women in our cast absolutely hated hearing this song and groaned every time it began.  I, on the other hand, lacking sophistacted taste in music, got quite attached, especially when Froo Froo reached papaya size.  I am including a link here, but be warned:  this is a song that can really latch on and stick for days.  Bear in mind, I heard it six nights a week for six weeks.  I half-expect that baby to come out knowing the lyrics:

She wears red feathers and a hooly-hooly skirt

She wears red feathers and a hooly-hooly skirt
She lives on just cokey-nuts and fish from the sea
A rose in her hair, a gleam in her eyes

And love in her heart for me

Click here to get the tune stuck in your head for a good solid week: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3zqzvc7iyDg

July 14:

July 15:  Froof has been very considerate to conceal herself inside my Moon Over Buffalo costume up to 22 1/2 weeks.

Ginna at work.

July 16:  I keep knocking into my belly ring because I haven't adjusted my spacial awareness to suit my growing belly.

July 17:  The skin around my belly ring is turning pink because I bump into it so often. (Yes, I know, you told me so, but it's my pregnancy, and it's my only body jewelry and I love it, and I don't feel well, so shut up.)

July 18:  I put a band aid over my belly ring.  Shh- I'm gonna stop you right there; I'm happy, so you should be too.

July 19:  Froof is the size of a grapefruit; it's 23 weeks.