June 22: Nineteen weeks. Baby is the size of a mango.
June 23:
June 24: For the record, readers, I have heard your requests for bump pics. But I have mixed feelings about posting these profile belly shots. I am taking them, yes, from a very clumsy selfie angle, and I share them with Sheffield since he is the father and he is not here to see the week-by-week changes, but I'm just not sure I want to share them with my online community.
You will think I am vain (I am) and self conscious (I'm not), but there's more to it that that. When I was not pregnant, these shots of other bellies made me feel jealous and judgy. Now, reader, you have to admit, parent or not, that you too are likely to judge the size of a pregnant belly. And one never knows how to respond to "you're tiny!" (Is that okay? Is something wrong with my baby?) or "you're huge!" (Is that okay? Is something wrong with my baby?... Wait, are you calling me fat? ... FuckOffIKnow!)
Now, if I am not actually in front of you modeling my roundness, if you are gazing upon the bulge via the internet, you are even more free to express your opinions about how big or small I and the bump appear. The thought of which does not make me entirely enthusiastic...
Still, I promise you- I promise you- no one's interest in the size of my growing fetus is greater than mine. I got that covered. Trust me.
You will think I am vain (I am) and self conscious (I'm not), but there's more to it that that. When I was not pregnant, these shots of other bellies made me feel jealous and judgy. Now, reader, you have to admit, parent or not, that you too are likely to judge the size of a pregnant belly. And one never knows how to respond to "you're tiny!" (Is that okay? Is something wrong with my baby?) or "you're huge!" (Is that okay? Is something wrong with my baby?... Wait, are you calling me fat? ... FuckOffIKnow!)
Now, if I am not actually in front of you modeling my roundness, if you are gazing upon the bulge via the internet, you are even more free to express your opinions about how big or small I and the bump appear. The thought of which does not make me entirely enthusiastic...
Still, I promise you- I promise you- no one's interest in the size of my growing fetus is greater than mine. I got that covered. Trust me.
June 25: So, they say it's good for me to read to my baby, because she'll like the sound of my voice, and that's totally cool, and I do read to her, but I can't help but wonder: if I'm already a nonstop chatterbox, is she rolling her eyes when, at bedtime, I open a book and start -guess what baby??? More talking!
June 26: Tomorrow I will turn 40. I wonder if perhaps this is the appropriate age to remove my belly-button ring. But then I decide that if I must be part of the category: "advanced maternal age", I might as well also be of "advanced body piercings age." And I go get my left nipple pierced.
Did I get you? Really? I had you on that one, didn't I? Just for a second...?
June 27:
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I'm 40 and pregnant. My days of taking shit are over.
... except for baby shit. I expect a good deal of baby shit.
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June 28: I announce my pregnancy on Facebook: Yes, if you could all please stop what you are doing and make a big deal out of what is arguably the most common thing in history, but is finally happening to me, that would be great.
June 29: 20 weeks. Baby is the length of a banana.
June 30: The nurse tech who performs our 20-week ultrasound describes ours as a "very active baby." See, Sheffield, it is your baby.
July 1: Costume master expands the waist of my dress again. And supplies me with a dark colored hankie in case I get a nose bleed during a performance. I owe him a batch of cupcakes.
July 2: I've decided I am going to cut back on my cursing. For the baby's sake. And evidently, she can already kind of hear me, so, expect fewer F-bombs in my speech.
But not in my writing.
You can expect a shit-ton of "fucks" in my writing.
You can expect a shit-ton of "fucks" in my writing.
July 3: Someone mentions "cinnamon roll" in my vicinity and now I can't stop thinking about cinnamon rolls. So, I get on my borrowed Cape May bike and ride two miles to the spot that reportedly has the best cinnamon rolls in town. The cinnamon roll does not survive beyond twenty paces from the exit. But little fetus froo froo has been satisfied.
July 4:
July 5: This advice from a pregnancy website:
"Blog your pregnancy! Help your family and friends know more about how you’re feeling through a website designed around your pregnancy. Post ultrasound pictures or—if you’re brave enough—pictures of your growing baby bump. Friends and family can offer support and share in your excitement!"
This suggestion initiates a plague of questions:
Is my irreverent potty-mouth blog what this writer had in mind?
Does anyone really want to see an ultrasound picture? (I mean, I adore my own baby's undecipherable form in grainy black and white print-outs, but c'mon, to anyone else, especially my friends without kids, it's like, "Whatthefuck am I looking at? A screen shot of a busted TV? A constellation? Is this a vision test?")
Will a daily log of weird food, and whether or not I barfed that day help friends and family share in my excitement?
Does one have to be "brave" to share a picture of her growing belly?
If "bump pics" require bravery, what do I need to push 8 lbs of human out of my vagina?
Guess I'd better start posting those full-body profile shots to beef up my bravery...
a few more texts between sheffield and me:
I love you because you say fuck as much as I do. Well....unless you really do cut back :)
ReplyDeleteAmy we are two peas in a pod. I'll let you know how the experiment goes...
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