Body Sharing

So the OB says the baby seems to be pretty crammed into my abdomen. “Not much room in there for him to move around; he’s pretty packed in.” If there is anything that can be said of how I feel at this very moment, this would be it. I have the urge to throw my arms around her and ask how in the world she knows this, along with posturing myself into a contrite stance and pleading with her to help me find more room for this little calf of mine. You hear of women who refer to their growing girths as shelves; for me it’s only because this is exactly what it is. My uterus juts up and out, standing at attention as much as my no-nonsense, get-down-to-business personality does; it is not laying casually low and around. And though this is not exactly table topic, the shelf-like position of my uterus causes some grievous occurrences north and south of its location. It hogs up all the room in the middle portion of my torso, pushing up on my diaphragm and lungs, wreaking havoc on my breathing and giving me indigestion at various odd hours of the day, as well as sitting heavily upon my upper and lower intestines, causing me to have to use the restroom every hour or two and producing those famed hemorrhoids.

I look mournfully at the pregnancy countdown ticker, and I cannot fathom another seven weeks. “I’m 33 weeks and 4 days old; only 45 days to go.” ONLY?!?! No way, Jose. Not happening here. Is it possible my uterus can extend another 45 days into this crammed cavity? It hardly seems able. I’m so replete with its expanding presence that even external land-lockings make me feel claustrophobic; when my girls sit on either side of me at night to read their bedtime story, I begin hyperventilating. I’m locked in on all sides.

On top of all that, let me just say, he’s quite the kicker.

I’m really done with this whole body-sharing experience, and I’m only writing it all down so that I’m NEVER tempted to try this whole pregnancy thing ever again.