Saturday, December 15, 2012

35 weeks pregnant: The Rib Cage Inn

My favorite pregnancy encounter happened around this time, where a stranger touched my belly and then proceeded to stare at me awkwardly and silently for several seconds. I starred back at her, bewildered. Finally she said, "I'm going to ask you a question." and I thought how nice, because I'm going to punch you in the face.
Her: Are you pregnant?
Me: Um, yes.
Her: I thought so but I couldn't tell if you were just heavy.

Excuse me, what? How many heavy people are tiny except for their WATERMELON SIZED BELLY? I'm either pregnant or have some sort of deadly medical condition. But wait! It gets better!

Her: So how far along are you?
Me: About 35 weeks now. Almost 36.
Her: So... about 6 months pregnant?
Me: ....

Yes, because six times four CLEARLY equals 35. Basic math skills for the win!

This trumped my former favorite pregnancy moment, when an old lady (who had previously seen me and scolded me for not having gained enough weight, TEETH GNASH) approvingly told me that I was getting "nice and fat". Just what every pregnant lady dreams of hearing!

Baby continues his comfortable stay in The Rib Cage Inn. He has pretty much been curled up in my right side the entire pregnancy and must be crushing some sort of crucial nerve connected to my right leg, as that leg frequently cramps and turns to jelly when I'm trying to exert myself too much, like say, moving in any sort of way. Joe and I were trying to book it back to the car recently when it was freezing out and I had to slow way down and hobble along instead because my leg was giving out. I'm sure I looked like a pregnant polio victim.

On the upside, traveling was marginally nicer than usual over Thanksgiving because everybody takes pity on limping pregnant ladies. Except for the TSA agents who continue to preform the most awkward full body pat downs in the history of life. "Is there anywhere sore on your body that I should know about?" (Blank stare while I gesture to my entire pregnant body) "Right, okay. I'm going to be touching your inner thighs now..." Yes, TSA agent, because everyone knows that pregnant ladies always hide their explosives in their inner thighs, magically concealed by maternity leggings. Just wait until you see where I have hidden the unicorn.

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