With just six more weeks of pregnancy left, I am definintely looking forward to no longer being a two-in-one person. There are some things that I have truly, truly missed during the past eight months. The way you miss things when you just want them to go back to the way the were. Of course, I'm worred that they never will - especially since the things I miss are:
1. My body
There are several large breeds of dogs that weigh less than I do. One of these is an exotic type of mastiff, known for its heavy musculature and massive head. In a nutshell, this is no poodle - yet put it opposite me on a seesaw and it will hover in mid air for several minutes.
This kind of bulk comes with its own misfortunes. Last night, I was trapped in my own car, in my own driveway, for several minutes. There is a special kind of claustrophobic hell that comes from knowing that the door to your warm, happy home is but two seconds away - but that you cannot access it. The thing is, my driveway is very narrow. I am not. When I opened the driver's side door, I realised that it simply would not be possible to slilnkily squeeze my way between my car and the neighbour's wall. Of course, I tried to suck my stomach in - or, maybe I didn't - since I no longer have stomach muscles, it's hard to tell. I even contemplated doing a parachute jump of sorts, standing on the seat ledge and preparing to propel myself forward. 'Propel' is simply a word that cannot be used in relation to pregnancy, and the result was that I just felt more panicked and trapped as I stood just 15cm above the ground, wondering how I would reach it. So, I thought I would try exit out the passenger side. Crossing over the gearstick to the next seat was an operation lasting almost a minute, during which I did things with my legs that would make a double-jointed porn star envious. Sadly, my efforts were in vain - the gap between my car and the house wall was even smaller on this side. At that moment, I felt true empathy for those peopel who were recently trapped by the Cape snows.
Of course, there are some parts of my body that I miss more than others. My small boobs, for a start. For a girl who hardly ever used to wear a bra, the sensation of having gigantic breasts resting on your stomach is a strange one. I'm particularly aware of it at night. So, I have developed a routine: after putting on my pyjama top, I have taken to fashioning my top into a small fabric shelf to swaddle my boobs in an effort to minimise the skin on skin contact.
And my bum. Now, I have never had a nice bum - or bums, should I say, since I appear to have been blessed with two of them. The first is your standard, common-or-garden variety bum. But underneath it is a little bum of its own, made entirely of fat and cellulite. It's not a great look, especially from profile, where the afore-mentioned cellulite stands out in liquid waves so that it looks for all the world like I have a lava lamp attached to my backside. Sound disconcerting? It was. Nonetheless, it was still a defineable bum, which is more than I can say for what is happening behind me now. I appear to have morphed into a giant human Tetris block - a large, lumpy square.
2. Freedom of movement
My husband's favourite game at the moment is 'beetle', a form of cow tipping. He waits for me to be sitting upright (usually on the bed, where I have to take rests between applying my stretch mark cream and putting on my pyjamas. This is, in itself, a major production, which involves me having to lean against the wall for support). He then gently prods me and watches as I fall over, and for several seconds more as I try to right myself.
Bathing is another activity that has become compromised. I have taken to having loooooong baths, not because I love them but because I can't get out without a show of Herculean strength as I have myself out of the water, usually with 'wooooooooooof' sound more commonly associated with arcade game characters that have just been punched in the stomach.
Sadly for me, just as my agility leaves, my clumsiness ratches a notch. I think this is because my hands are very swollen. To be honest, it's kind of hard to tell. Hand modelling was never in my future; my fingers appear to have stopped growing when I was 10, and when I say they are not slender, my point is best illustrated by an awkward moment when my husband was proposing and realised that he was hurting me a little as he tried to screw the reluctant ring onto my pudgy finger. Nonetheless, I think that swelling is the only reason there can be for me dropping nearly everything I pick up. Of course, things that have been dropped must be retrieved. In the past, this would have involved a simple little forward fold. Now, I have to brace myself, planting my feet in a perfectly turned out second position and bending down in a way that forces my bum far out, so that I bear an uncanny resemblance to someone who really wanted to be a ballerina, realised that she did not have the poise for pirouettes, and more sensibly took up sumo instead - but can't bring herself to let go of the illusion of grace.
3. Driving
Of course I can still drive. The thing is, though, that without my core muscles, I find it really difficult to turn and check blind spots. As a result, I have gently tapped two pedestrians in the past month. Please note that I say gently tapped and not run over. For the most part, they were very understanding - except for the first one who, to be honest, I felt could have been a little more sympathetic as he was a car guard and a gentle bumper bashing is surely as much an occupational hazard for him as paper cuts are for me.
4. My skin
I think it is very important for women who have never been pregnant before to know that it is not just your stomach that grows. Everything on your skin does, too. For example, I have a mole on my back that used to be a freckle - now it feels like I have a raisin or a dead fly stuffed down my shirt. Nice. Also, I am covered in skin tags, making me look like human velcro. Oh, and a rash of pimples has cropped up on my face. Most of these are along my hairline and, disgustingly, I have developed an obsession with monitoring their progress, so that I am constantly rubbing my head like an obssessive-compulsive ape after a shot of Red Bull. Also, my nose has gone from being unremarkable to a major landmark on my face. As part of this, the skin around it has developed a striking resemblance to tenderised steak - red and raw. Yup, I'm one pretty gal.
5. Food
Don't get me wrong - I eat. And eat. And eat. One doesn't put on 28kg from laughing at the fridge as you stride merrily past it on the way to your Pilates class, after all. Plus, I have managed to widen my horizons and find a deep love for foodstuffs I would never previously have contemplated; for example, it's not uncommon to find me sitting at my desk chugging from a two-litre bottle of milk the way an athlete who has just finished the Comrades would drain an Energade. But there are things from the pre-pregnancy days that I really do miss: that second cup of coffee, the one that gives you a tiny kick in the stomach. The salty, silky taste of blue cheese gnocchi. The 'pow' in your mouth that only salmon, soy sauce and wasabi can deliver.
This is why I have several 'new life' resolutions for when I am no longer pregnant: Whenever I see someone whose shoelaces are untied, I will bend to do them up, then bow deep and low when they say thank you, then triple check the blind spots in my car as I scoot off to have a meal of deep fried camembert.
1. My body
There are several large breeds of dogs that weigh less than I do. One of these is an exotic type of mastiff, known for its heavy musculature and massive head. In a nutshell, this is no poodle - yet put it opposite me on a seesaw and it will hover in mid air for several minutes.
This kind of bulk comes with its own misfortunes. Last night, I was trapped in my own car, in my own driveway, for several minutes. There is a special kind of claustrophobic hell that comes from knowing that the door to your warm, happy home is but two seconds away - but that you cannot access it. The thing is, my driveway is very narrow. I am not. When I opened the driver's side door, I realised that it simply would not be possible to slilnkily squeeze my way between my car and the neighbour's wall. Of course, I tried to suck my stomach in - or, maybe I didn't - since I no longer have stomach muscles, it's hard to tell. I even contemplated doing a parachute jump of sorts, standing on the seat ledge and preparing to propel myself forward. 'Propel' is simply a word that cannot be used in relation to pregnancy, and the result was that I just felt more panicked and trapped as I stood just 15cm above the ground, wondering how I would reach it. So, I thought I would try exit out the passenger side. Crossing over the gearstick to the next seat was an operation lasting almost a minute, during which I did things with my legs that would make a double-jointed porn star envious. Sadly, my efforts were in vain - the gap between my car and the house wall was even smaller on this side. At that moment, I felt true empathy for those peopel who were recently trapped by the Cape snows.
Of course, there are some parts of my body that I miss more than others. My small boobs, for a start. For a girl who hardly ever used to wear a bra, the sensation of having gigantic breasts resting on your stomach is a strange one. I'm particularly aware of it at night. So, I have developed a routine: after putting on my pyjama top, I have taken to fashioning my top into a small fabric shelf to swaddle my boobs in an effort to minimise the skin on skin contact.
And my bum. Now, I have never had a nice bum - or bums, should I say, since I appear to have been blessed with two of them. The first is your standard, common-or-garden variety bum. But underneath it is a little bum of its own, made entirely of fat and cellulite. It's not a great look, especially from profile, where the afore-mentioned cellulite stands out in liquid waves so that it looks for all the world like I have a lava lamp attached to my backside. Sound disconcerting? It was. Nonetheless, it was still a defineable bum, which is more than I can say for what is happening behind me now. I appear to have morphed into a giant human Tetris block - a large, lumpy square.
2. Freedom of movement
My husband's favourite game at the moment is 'beetle', a form of cow tipping. He waits for me to be sitting upright (usually on the bed, where I have to take rests between applying my stretch mark cream and putting on my pyjamas. This is, in itself, a major production, which involves me having to lean against the wall for support). He then gently prods me and watches as I fall over, and for several seconds more as I try to right myself.
Bathing is another activity that has become compromised. I have taken to having loooooong baths, not because I love them but because I can't get out without a show of Herculean strength as I have myself out of the water, usually with 'wooooooooooof' sound more commonly associated with arcade game characters that have just been punched in the stomach.
Sadly for me, just as my agility leaves, my clumsiness ratches a notch. I think this is because my hands are very swollen. To be honest, it's kind of hard to tell. Hand modelling was never in my future; my fingers appear to have stopped growing when I was 10, and when I say they are not slender, my point is best illustrated by an awkward moment when my husband was proposing and realised that he was hurting me a little as he tried to screw the reluctant ring onto my pudgy finger. Nonetheless, I think that swelling is the only reason there can be for me dropping nearly everything I pick up. Of course, things that have been dropped must be retrieved. In the past, this would have involved a simple little forward fold. Now, I have to brace myself, planting my feet in a perfectly turned out second position and bending down in a way that forces my bum far out, so that I bear an uncanny resemblance to someone who really wanted to be a ballerina, realised that she did not have the poise for pirouettes, and more sensibly took up sumo instead - but can't bring herself to let go of the illusion of grace.
3. Driving
Of course I can still drive. The thing is, though, that without my core muscles, I find it really difficult to turn and check blind spots. As a result, I have gently tapped two pedestrians in the past month. Please note that I say gently tapped and not run over. For the most part, they were very understanding - except for the first one who, to be honest, I felt could have been a little more sympathetic as he was a car guard and a gentle bumper bashing is surely as much an occupational hazard for him as paper cuts are for me.
4. My skin
I think it is very important for women who have never been pregnant before to know that it is not just your stomach that grows. Everything on your skin does, too. For example, I have a mole on my back that used to be a freckle - now it feels like I have a raisin or a dead fly stuffed down my shirt. Nice. Also, I am covered in skin tags, making me look like human velcro. Oh, and a rash of pimples has cropped up on my face. Most of these are along my hairline and, disgustingly, I have developed an obsession with monitoring their progress, so that I am constantly rubbing my head like an obssessive-compulsive ape after a shot of Red Bull. Also, my nose has gone from being unremarkable to a major landmark on my face. As part of this, the skin around it has developed a striking resemblance to tenderised steak - red and raw. Yup, I'm one pretty gal.
5. Food
Don't get me wrong - I eat. And eat. And eat. One doesn't put on 28kg from laughing at the fridge as you stride merrily past it on the way to your Pilates class, after all. Plus, I have managed to widen my horizons and find a deep love for foodstuffs I would never previously have contemplated; for example, it's not uncommon to find me sitting at my desk chugging from a two-litre bottle of milk the way an athlete who has just finished the Comrades would drain an Energade. But there are things from the pre-pregnancy days that I really do miss: that second cup of coffee, the one that gives you a tiny kick in the stomach. The salty, silky taste of blue cheese gnocchi. The 'pow' in your mouth that only salmon, soy sauce and wasabi can deliver.
This is why I have several 'new life' resolutions for when I am no longer pregnant: Whenever I see someone whose shoelaces are untied, I will bend to do them up, then bow deep and low when they say thank you, then triple check the blind spots in my car as I scoot off to have a meal of deep fried camembert.
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